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TALES 


THE    GOOD    WOMAN. 


TALES 


OF 


THE    GOOD    WOMAN. 


BY 


A   DOUBTFUL   GENTLEMAN 


OTHERWISE, 


JAMES    K.   PATJLDING 


EDITED  BY  WILLIAM  I.  PAULDING. 

,  ^ 

IN    ONE   VOLUME. 


„.    California- 
NEW    YORK: 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER    AND   COMPANY. 

186T. 

' 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867,  by 
WILLIAM    I.    PAULDING, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


CAMBRIDGE: 
STEREOTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY  JOHN  \VILSON  AND  SON. 


P5 


mi 


INTRODUCTION. 


THE  stories  which  I  have  included  under  the  general  title 
of  "  Tales  of  The  Good  Woman "  were  published  in  several 
books,  between  thirty  and  forty  years  ago ;  and  some  of  the 
shorter  ones,  perhaps,  in  magazines  or  annuals,  before  find 
ing  place  between  the  boards  of  a  volume.  All  of  the  longer 
ones  —  that  is  to  say,  Dyspepsy,  The  Azure  Hose,  The  Poli 
tician,  and  The  Dumb  Girl  —  as  I  learn  from  the  "  Advertise 
ment  of  the  Publishers"  in  1836,  were  intended  to  have 
been  covered  by  the  above  designation,  and  to  have  been 
prefaced  by  the  "Memoir  of  the  unknown  author"  which 
will  be  found  herein-after.  The  first  volume  of  tales  was 
published  in  1829,  with  the  title-page  designed;  the 
second,  brought  out  in  1830,  in  consequence  of  "it  happen 
ing  that  a  work  was  just  at  the  time  republished  here 
with  a  similar  title  ",  was  styled  "  Chronicles  of  the  City  of 
Gotham  ",  and  had  a  separate  introduction,  in  the  shape  of  a 
petition  addressed  to  the  municipal  authorities  of  that  mythi 
cal  town. 

All  of  these  stories  are  full  of  little  personal  reminiscences, 
or  touches  of  autobiography,  modified  and  worked  up  by  Mr. 
Paulding,  to  suit  his  purpose  for  the  time  being. 

The  farm,  in  "  Dyspepsy  ",  came  to  him  through  his  wife. 
It  was  four  or  five  miles  back  from  the  river,  in  the  High- 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

lands,  and  nobly  descended  from  the  great  upper  Philipse 
patent.  Such  as  it  is  described  are  many  in  the  neighbor 
hood,  now.  The  old  tenants  of  "  Mr.  Ambler "  are,  no 
doubt,  sketches  from  life,  and,  very  probably,  taken  on  the 
spot  to  which  they  are  assigned  in  the  landscape.  "  Mr. 
Lightly  ",  the  mountaineer  who  would  "  step  over  to  Pough- 
keepsie "  (say  thirty  miles)  and  back,  in  a  summer  day,  is 
still  remembered  by  living  "acquaintances,  under  the  genuine 
name  of  "  Hopper  ". 

"  The  Dumb  Girl "  is  voiceful  with  associations  of  his 
youth,  the  localities,  allusions,  and  characters,  all  being  con 
nected  with  his  early  years  in  Westchester  county.  The 
heroine,  however,  was  a  good  deal  more  of  a  crab  than  he 
makes  out  in  the  story.  An  autobiographical  memorandum, 
written  by  Mr.  Paulding  in  1851,  thus  describes  her :  —  "  If  I 
remember  right  she  was  a  very  well-looking  tidy  lass,  but  of 
this  I  am  positive,  that  she  was  one  of  the  greatest  viragoes 
I  ever  had  the  ill-luck  to  consort  with.  Not  being  able  to 
give  vent  to  her  feelings  by  speech,  she  resorted  to  action, 
and  to  this  day  my  ears  tingle  when  I  think  of  her,  for  many 
is  the  time  she  has  boxed  them  to  enlighten  my  comprehen 
sion.  But  I  forgive  her  —  and  her  father,  too,  for  the  many 
long  stories  he  used  to  tell  of  his  exploits  in  the  Revolution." 
The  name  and  the  sad  story  are  fictitious. 

"The  Azure  Hose"  is  the  natural  outcrop  of  a  solid  stra 
tum  of  resistance  to  the  adulation  of  English  authorship,  once 
prevalent  in  American  "  Society  ".  This  in  general ;  and  as 
to  Lord  Byron,  it  is  to  be  said,  that  Mr.  Paulding,  having 
founded  his  taste  upon  Goldsmith,  had  a  positive  repugnance 
to  what  is  called  "  fine "  or  "  strong "  writing,  wherever  it 
appeared.  Of  this  style  Byron  was  to  him  the  embodied 
spirit.  Accordingly  he  never  missed  a  chance  to  give  him  a 
remembrancer.  In  "  A  Sketch  of  Old  England  ",  published 
in  1822,  he  handled  his  lordship  in  a  half-jocose  half-seri 
ous  way  which  is  entertaining  enough:  and  he  has  a  hit 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

at  him  in  "  Koningsmarke  ",  published  in  1823.     The  head 
ing  of  chapter  II.,  Book  VII,  reads  thus :  — 

Accursed  be  the  stars    *********! 

The  fulsome  sun,  that  shines  on  all  alike, 

Good,  bad,  indifferent,  Tag,  Rag,  and  Bobtail! 

Satan's  abus'd,  and  so  is  honest  Cain, 

And  so  am  I  —  but    ********! 

Lord  B n. 

In  the  edition  of  1836  an  improvement  occurs  to  him, 
and,  for  "  abus'd  ",  he  writes  "  belied  ".  So  elsewhere.  All 
this  may  seem  a  waste  of  powder,  now  that  the  reputation  of 
that  author  has  settled  down  into  a  place  certainly  not  among 
the  first-rates.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that  it  was  a 
very  bold  estimate  to  make  at  the  time. 

"  The  Progress  of  The  Age  "  comes  under  the  head  of 
those  squibs  which  he  was  continually  firing  off  in  honor 
of  what  he  regarded  as  the  absurdities  of  the  passing  hour. 

The  little  stories,  "The  Revenge  of  St.  Nicholas", 
"  Cobus  Yerks  ",  and  "  The  Ride  of  St.  Nicholas  ",  are  taken 
from  "The  Book  of  Saint  Nicholas.  Translated  from  the 
original  Dutch  of  Dominie  Nicholas  ^Egidius  Oudenarde." 
Here  follow  the  "dedication"  and  "advertisement"  of  the 
putative  author. 

TO 

THE   SOCIETIES   OF   SAINT  NICHOLAS 

IN  THE 

NEW    NETHERLANDS, 

COMMONLY   CALLED 

NEW     YORK. 

MOST  DEAR  AND  WORTHY  ASSOCIATES, 

In  obedience  to  the  command  of  the  good  saint  who  is  equally 
an  object  of  affectionate  reverence  to  us  all,  as  well  as  in  due 
deference  to  the  feelings  of  brotherhood  which  attach  us  irrevoca 
bly  to  those  who  honour  his  name,  his  virtues,  and  his  country,  I 
dedicate  this  work  to  you  all  without  discrimination  or  exception. 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

As  descendants,  in  whole  or  in  part,  from  that  illustrious  people 
who,  after  conquering  nature  by  their  industry  and  perseverance, 
achieved  liberty  by  their  determined  courage,  and  learning  and 
science  by  their  intellectual  vigour,  I  rejoice  to  see  you  instituting 
bonds  of  union,  for  the  purpose  of  preserving  the  remembrance 
of  such  an  honourable  lineage  and  the  ties  of  a  common  origin. 
While  we  recollect  with  honest  pride  the  industry,  the  integrity, 
the  enterprise,  the  love  of  liberty,  and  the  heroism  of  old  "fader- 
land,'1'1  let  us  not  forget  that  the  truest  way  to  honour  worthy  an 
cestors  is  to  emulate  their  examples. 

That  you  may  long  live  to  cherish  the  memory  of  so  excellent 
a  saint,  and  such  venerable  forefathers,  is  the  earnest  wish  of 
Your  associate  and  friend, 

NICHOLAS  -ZEoiDius  OUDENARDE. 
Kieuw  Amsterdam,  July,  1837. 


AUTHOR'S   ADVERTISEMENT, 

WHICH  IS  EARNESTLY  RECOMMENDED  TO  THE  ATTENTIVE  PERUSAL  OF  THE 
JUDICIOUS  READER. 

You  will  please  to  understand,  gentle  reader,  that,  being  a  true 
descendant  of  the  adventurous  Hollanders  who  first  discovered  the 
renowned  island  of  Manhattan  —  which  is  every  day  becoming 
more  and  more  worth  its  weight  in  paper  money  —  I  have  all  my 
life  been  a  sincere  and  fervent  follower  of  the  right  reverend  and 
jolly  St.  Nicholas,  the  only  tutelary  of  this  mighty  state.  I  have 
never,  on  any  proper  occasion,  omitted  doing  honour  to  his  mem 
ory  by  keeping  his  birthday  with  all  due  observances,  and  paying 
him  my  respectful  devoirs  on  Christmas',  and  New-year's,  eve. 

From  my  youth  upward  I  have  been  always  careful  to  hang  up 
my  stocking  in  the  chimney-corner,  on  both  these  memorable  anni 
versaries  ;  and  this  I  hope  I  may  say  without  any  unbecoming 
ebullition  of  vanity,  that  on  no  occasion  did  I  fail  to  receive  glori 
ous  remembrances  of  his  favour  and  countenance,  always  saving 
two  exceptions  —  once  when  the  good  saint  signified  his  displea 
sure  at  my  tearing  up  a  Dutch  almanac,  and  again,  on  occasion  of 
my  going  to  a  Presbyterian  meeting-house  with  a  certain  little 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

Dutch  damsel,  by  filling  my  stockings  with  snowballs,  instead 
savoury  oly  koeks. 

Saving  these  manifestations  of  his  anger,  I  can  safely  boast  of 
having  been  a  special  favourite  of  the  good  St.  Nicholas,  who  hath 
ever  evinced  a  singular  kindness  and  suavity  towards  me  in  all  sea 
sons  of  my  life.  Further,  seeing  I  was  not  only  his  namesake,  but 
always  reverently  honoured  his  name  to  the  best  of  my  poor  abili 
ties,  he  hath,  at  sundry  times  of  dire  entanglement,  more  than  once 
vouchsafed  to  appear  to  me  in  dreams  and  visions,  giving  me  sago 
advice  and  goodly  admonition,  the  which  never  failed  of  being  of 
great  service  to  me. 

From  my  youth  upward,  moreover,  I  have  been  accustomed  to 
call  upon  him  in  time  of  need ;  and  this  I  will  say  for  him,  that  he 
always  came  promptly  whenever  he  was  within  hearing.  I  will 
not  detain  the  expectant  reader  with  the  relation  of  these  special 
instances  touching  the  years  of  my  juvenility,  but  straightway  pro 
ceed  to  that  which  is  material  to  my  present  purpose. 

The  reader  will  please  to  comprehend  that  after  I  had,  with  the 
labour  and  research  of  many  years,  completed  the  tales  which  I 
now,  with  an  humble  deference,  offer  to  his  acceptance,  I  was  all 
at  once  struck  dumb,  with  the  unparalleled  difficulty  of  finding  a 
name  for  my  work,  seeing  that  every  title  appertinent  to  such 
divertisements  hath  been  applied  over  and  over  again,  long  and 
merry  agone.  Now,  as  before  intimated  to  the  judicious  reader, 
whenever  I  am  in  sore  perplexity  of  mind,  as  not  unfrequently 
happens  to  such  as  (as  it  were)  cudgel  their  brains  for  the  benefit 
of  their  fellow-creatures  —  I  say,  when  thus  beleaguered,  I  always 
shut  my  eyes,  lean  back  in  my  chair,  which  is  furnished  with  a 
goodly  stuffed  back  and  arms,  and  grope  for  that  which  I  require 
in  the  profound  depths  of  abstraction. 

It  was  thus  I  comported  myself  on  this  trying  occasion,  when, 
lo  !  and  behold !  I  incontinently  fell  asleep,  as  it  were,  in  the 
midst  of  my  cogitations,  and  while  I  was  fervently  praying  to  the 
good-hearted  St.  Nicholas  to  inspire  me  with  a  proper  and  signifi 
cant  name  for  this  my  mental  offspring.  I  cannot  with  certainty 
say  how  long  I  had  remained  in  this  drowsy  meditation,  when  I 
was  favoured  with  the  appearance  of  a  vision,  which,  at  first  sight, 
I  knew  to  be  that  of  the  excellent  St.  Nicholas,  who  scorns  to  fol 
low  the  pestilent  fashions  of  modern  times,  but  ever  appears  in  the 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

ancient  dress  of  the  old  patriarchs  of  Holland.  And  here  I  will 
describe  the  good  saint,  that  peradventure  all  those  to  whom  he 
may,  in  time  to  come,  vouchsafe  his  presence,  may  know  him  at 
first  sight,  even  as  they  know  the  father  that  begot  them. 

He  is  a  right  fat,  jolly,  roistering  little  fellow  —  if  I  may  make 
bold  to  call  him  so  familiarly  —  and  had  I  not  known  him  of  old  for 
a  veritable  saint,  I  might,  of  a  truth,  have  taken  him,  on  this  occa 
sion,  for  little  better  than  a  sinner.  He  was  dressed  in  a  snuff- 
coloured  coat  of  goodly  conceited  dimensions,  having  broad  skirts, 
cuffs  mighty  to  behold,  and  buttons  about  the  size  of  a  moderate 
New-year  cooky.  His  waistcoat  and  breeches,  of  which  he  had  a 
proper  number,  were  of  the  same  cloth  and  colour ;  his  hose  of 
gray  worsted ;  his  shoes  high-quartered,  even  up  to  the  instep, 
ornamented  with  a  pair  of  silver  buckles,  exceedingly  bright ;  his 
hat  was  of  a  low  crown  and  right  broad  brim,  cocked  up  on  one 
side  ;  and  in  the  button-holes  of  his  coat  was  ensconced  a  long  delft 
pipe,  almost  as  black  as  ebony.  His  visage  was  the  picture  of 
good-humoured  benevolence  ;  and  by  these  marks  I  knew  him  as 
well  as  I  know  the  nose  on  my  own  face. 

The  good  saint,  being  always  in  a  hurry  on  errands  of  good 
fellowship,  (and  especially  about  the  time  of  the  holydays  of  Paas 
and  Pinkster),  and  being  withal  a  person  of  little  ceremony,  ad 
dressed  me  without  delay,  and  with  much  frankness;  which  was 
all  exceedingly  proper,  as  we  were  such  old  friends.  He  spoke  to 
me  in  Dutch,  which  is  now  a  learned  language,  understood  only 
by  erudite  scholars. 

"What  aileth  thee,  my  godson  Nicholas?  "  quoth  he. 

I  was  about  to  answer  that  I  was  in  grievous  embarrassment 
concerning  the  matter  aforesaid,  when  he  courteously  interrupted 
me,  saying, 

"  Be  quiet,  I  know  it,  and  therefore  there  is  no  special  occasion 
for  thee  to  tell  me.  Thou  shalt  call  thy  work  *  THE  BOOK  OF  ST. 
NICHOLAS,'  in  honour  of  thy  patroon ;  and  here  are  the  materials 
of  my  biography,  which  I  charge  thee,  on  pain  of  empty  pockets 
from  this  time  forward,  to  dilate  and  adorn  in  such  a  manner  that, 
(foreseeing,  as  I  do,  that  thy  work  will  go  down  to  the  latest 
posterity),  it  may  do  honour  to  my  name,  and  rescue  it  from  that 
obscurity  in  which  it  hath  been  enveloped  through  the  crying  igno 
rance  of  past  generations,  who  have  been  seduced  into  a  veneration 


INTRODUCTION.  11 

for  St.  George,  St.  Denis,  St.  David,  and  other  doughty  dragon- 
slaying  saints,  who  were  little  better  than  swaggering  bullies. 
Moreover,  I  charge  thee,  as  thou  valuest  my  blessing  and  protec 
tion,  to  dedicate  thy  work  unto  the  worthy  and  respectable  socie 
ties  of  St.  Nicholas  in  this  my  stronghold  in  the  New  World. 
Thou  rnightest,  perhaps,  as  well  have  left  out  that  prank  of  mine  at 
the  carousing  of  old  Baltus,  but  verily  it  matters  not.  Let  the 
truth  be  told." 

Saying  this,  he  handed  me  a  roll  of  ancient  vellum,  containing, 
as  I  afterwards  found,  the  particulars  which,  in  conformity  with 
his  solemn  command,  I  have  amplified  into  the  only  veritable  biog 
raphy  of  my  patron  saint  which  hath  ever  been  given  to  the  world. 
The  one  hitherto  received  as  orthodox  is,  according  to  the  declara 
tion  of  the  saint  himself,  scarcely  more  than  a  collection  of  legends 
written  under  the  express  inspection  of  the  old  lady  of  Babylon. 

I  reverently  received  the  precious  deposit,  and  faithfully  prom 
ised  obedience  to  his  commands  ;  whereupon  the  good  St.  Nicholas, 
puffing  in  my  face  a  whiff  of  tobacco-smoke  more  fragrant  than 
all  the  spices  of  the  East,  blessed  me,  and  departed  in  haste,  to 
be  present  at  a  wedding  in  Communipaw.  Hereupon  I  awoke, 
and  should  have  thought  all  that  had  passed  but  a  dream,  arising 
out  of  the  distempered  state  of  my  mind,  had  I  not  held  in  my 
hand  the  identical  roll  of  vellum,  presented  in  the  manner  just 
related.  On  examination,  it  proved  to  contain  the  matter  which 
is  incorporated  in  the  first  story  of  this  collection,  under  the  title 
of  "  The  Legend  of  St.  Nicholas,1'  not  only  in  due  recognition  of 
his  fiat,  but  in  order  that  henceforward  no  one  may  pretend  igno 
rance  concerning  this  illustrious  and  benevolent  saint,  seeing  they 
have  now  a  biography  under  his  own  hand. 

Thus  much  have  I  deemed  it  proper  to  preface  to  the  reader, 
as  some  excuse  for  the  freedom  of  having  honoured  my  poor  fic 
tions  with  the  title  of  The  Book  of  St.  Nicholas,  which  might  other 
wise  have  been  deemed  a  piece  of  unchristian  presumption. 

The  "  Revenge "  and  the  "  Ride  "  are  in  Mr.  Paulding's 
usual  tone  of  mingled  satire  and  sentiment,  and  call  for  no 
remark.  Nor,  indeed,  does  "  Cobus  Yerks  ",  except  to  .state 
that  the  localities  mentioned  therein  are  near  Tarrytown,  in 
Westchester  County,  New  York,  and  that  "  Master  Timothy 


12  INTRODUCTION. 

Canty  ",  the  motive  power  of  the  story,  once  played  his  part 
among  men.  The  same  may  fairly  be  assumed  of  the  little 
Dutchman.  The  original  of  Tim  Mr.  Paulding  describes  as 
follows,  in  the  memorandum  previously  referred  to :  — 

"  I  don't  remember  in  what  year  it  was  that  the  simple  people 
of  Tarrytown  were  excited  almost  to  phrenzy,  by  a  strange  appari 
tion  that  made  its  appearance  one  morning,  in  the  garret  of  a  one- 
story  house  belonging  to  my  brother-in-law.  My  recollection  of 
this  singular  being  is  perfect,  for  we  soon  became  inseparable 
companions.  He  was  an  Englishman  and  an  artist,  with  the  most 
odd,  irregular,  unneighborly  countenance  I  ever  saw." 

He  then  gives  an  account  of  his  acquaintance,  not  differ 
ing  materially  from  that  in  the  story ;  and,  remarking  that 
"  he  certainly  was  the  greatest  oddity  I  ever  met  with  ",  states 
that,  after  two  or  three  years'  stay  in  the  village,  "  having 
obtained  specimens  of  all  the  insects  in  that  quarter,  he  ab 
ruptly  took  his  departure,  no  one  knew  whither,  leaving  me  as 
a  legacy  The  Four  Seasons  and  Kitty  Fisher." 

Many  years  after,  Mr.  Paulding  chanced  upon  this  eccen 
tric  genius  (now  in  comparatively  flourishing  estate)  in  Phila 
delphia,  and  has  recorded  that  "  Tim  Canty  "  greeted  him  as 
of  old,  in  a  hearty  and  friendly  way,  with  the  title  of  "  little 
vagabond  ". 

I  learn  that  "  Sheriff  Smith  was  killed  in  the  place  called 
Hard  Scrabble  ",  now  known  as  "  Rossell's  Corner  ",  about 
five  miles  from  Tarrytown.  John  Ryer  was  hung  at  White 
Plains,  the  county-town,  which  is  a  little  out  of  the  range  of 
country  to  which  the  narrative  in  strictness  applies. 

The  Dutch  words  and  phrases  introduced  in  the  three  last- 
mentioned  stories  are  spelled,  as  near  as  may  be,  according  to 
the  pronunciation  in  the  State  of  New  York ;  and  not  as  they 
stand  in  the  dictionary.  I  believe  that  the  "  j "  was  pro 
nounced  as  "  y  "  in  English,  and  that  the  "  v  "  had  a  sound 
between  "f"  and  "v".  Where  it  seemed  necessary,  I  have 
appended  the  translation  in  a  foot-note. 


INTRODUCTION.  13 

As  I  have  mentioned  notes,  I  may  as  well  now  state  that 
I  have  added  one  here  and  there  throughout  the  volume, 
where  the  allusion  is  already  becoming  obscure. 

The  story  of  "The  Politician",  first  published  in  1830, 
was,  we  may  be  sure,  suggested  by  Mr.  Paulding's  early  ob 
servations  in  the  national  capital ;  and,  it  may  be  added,  was, 
in  some  respects,  wonderfully  illustrated  in  his  later  experi 
ences  as  a  magnate  in  Washington.  His  letters  abound  in 
strokes  of  caustic  humor  directed  at  the  weaknesses  of 
public  life,  and,  (especially  those  to  Irving,  Brevoort,  and 
Kemble,  while  Secretary  of  the  Navy),  would  furnish  a  quite 
pertinent  commentary  on  the  tale. 

The  incident  of  the  application  for  a  foreign  mission  is  one 
of  those  anecdotes  which  have  ingrained  themselves  with  the 
newspaper  mind  in  such  a  way  that  they  work  to  the  surface, 
somewhere  or  other,  every  year  or  so ;  and  it  has  been  re 
ferred  from  time  to  time  to  almost  every  president  of  the 
United  States.  I  believe  the  story  is  substantially  true,  or, 
at  all  events,  helped  on  but  a  little,  and  that  the  circumstance 
actually  occurred  in  connexion  with  Mr.  Monroe.  Whether 
this  be  so  or  not,  I  have,  among  Mr.  Paulding's  papers,  come 
across  a  solicitation  which  is  well-nigh  as  comprehensive, 
(barring  the  clothes),  and  otherwise  not  unamusing.  He 
was,  of  course,  while  at  the  head  of  a  Department,  exposed 
to  importunities  from  men  in  high  position,  applicants  for  their 
friends  or  followers,  and  from  men  in  small  place  or  no  place, 
for  themselves.  The  plea  of  one  of  these  latter,  asking  for 
any  office  whatever,  has  been  preserved,  either  through  acci 
dent,  or  as  a  curiosity.  The  conclusion  of  it  is  suggestive,  as 
indicating  in  a  very  naive  way  the  popular  estimate  of  moral 
qualification  for  office.  I  give  it,  "punctuatim  et  literatim  ", 
with  his  italics  :  — 

"  I  have  now  been  engaged  ten  years  in  editorial  life  ;  and  the 
thirteen  years  which  I  spent  in  the  vocation  of  a  pedagogue,  have 
not  been  spent  entirely  in  vain.  I  commenced  at  sixteen,  and  am 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

now  thirty  nine,  with  good  health,  and  good  morals  considering  my 
avocations ." 

The  independence  of  Mr.  Paulding  himself,  as  an  office 
holder,  was  something  diverting,  and  yet  worthy  of  all  respect 
and  even  admiration.  He  had  some  piquant  experience  in 
the  year  1832,  running  into  1833,  when  the  system  of  taxing 
men  in  place  for  political  purposes  was  first  carried  into 
effect.  The  circumstances  are  curious,  as  marking,  with  some 
precision,  the  era  in  which  began  that  degradation  of  office, 
which  of  all  causes  perhaps  has  done  most  to  damage  and 
weaken  republican  sentiment  and  republican  institutions.  I 
should  be  inclined  to  put  them  on  record  here,  but  for  the 
apprehension  that  I  have  already  in  this  introduction  over 
drawn  upon  the  patience  of  the  reader. 

In  all  of  the  compositions  of  Mr.  Paulding  which  make 
up  this  volume,  an  extreme  simplicity  of  machinery  will  be 
remarked ;  and  it  is  but  fair  to  observe  that  they  should  not 
be  judged  as  stories,  at  all.  It  was  his  practice  to  set  up  a 
little  frame  of  narrative,  which  he  used  as  a. vehicle,  to  carry  a 
satire  which  he  chose  to  exhibit,  or  a  moral  which  he  wished 
to  convey :  but  of  the  fable  itself  he  made  little  account. 

Taken  altogether,  it  may  be  said  that  these  TALES  OF  THE 
GOOD  WOMAN  furnish  an  excellent  measure  of  Mr.  Pauld- 
ing's  capacity  and  range  of  composition.  Whatever  there 
was  in  him  of  fresh  and  artless  feeling;  of  deep-seated  admi 
ration  and  lover-like  enjoyment  of  Nature ;  of  quaint,  odd, 
satirical  observation ;  of  simple  pathos  ;  of  droll  intuition,  or 
comically-original  view ;  of  national  prejudice ;  of  indepen 
dent  and  unique,  if  sometimes  one-eyed,  judgment ;  of  clear, 
queer,  insight  into  men  and  things ;  of  unforced  wit,  and  un- 
elaborated  fun ;  of  worship  of  what  is  grand  or  beautiful  in 
the  material,  intellectual,  or  moral  world ;  of  hearty  abhor 
rence  of  crime,  and  scorn  of  meanness  and  villainy ;  of  dis 
gust  for  purse-proud  vulgarity,  affectation,  pretence ;  of 
raillery  that  plays  fast  by  the  well  of  tears,  and  laughter  that 


INTRODUCTION.  15 

is  fierce  with  indignation ;  —  all  transfused  and  vivified  with 
the  peculiar  flavor,  so  to  speak,  of  the  man  —  all,  in  a  word, 
of  the  character  that  God  had  given  him  —  is  in  these  stories 
to  be  found  exemplified.  Good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  as  in  the 
verdict  of  Time  they  may  be  pronounced,  I  do  not  know  of 
any  other  author  who  could  possibly  have  written  them. 

W.  I.  P. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
MEMOIR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  AUTHOR 21 

THE  AZURE  HOSE 43 

THE  DUMB  GIRL 165 

DYSPEPSY .203 

THE  PROGRESS  OF  THE  AGE 255 

THE  REVENGE  OF  SAINT  NICHOLAS 265 

COBUS  YERKS 285 

THE  RIDE  OF  SATNT  NICHOLAS 303 

THE  POLITICIAN                                                                       ,  335 


M  E  M  O  I  K 


UNKNOWN    AUTHOR. 


;• 

•-•  ; 


M  E  M  O  I  R 


OF   THE 


UNKNOWN    AUTHOR 


IT  hath  been  so  often  remarked,  by  persons  aiming 
at  originality,  that  the  pleasure  of  the  reader  is  won 
derfully  enhanced  by  knowing  something  concerning 
the  writer  of  the  book  he  is  about  to  devour,  that  the 
good-natured  wrorld  actually  begins  to  believe  it  true, 
notwithstanding  it  hath  so  often  grievously  yawned 
over  the  lives  of  divers  great  authors.  It  is  for  this 
reason  that  almost  every  work  of  any  pretensions 
hath  prefixed  to  it  certain  particulars  concerning  the 
writer,  which  in  ordinary  cases  would  be  considered 
exceedingly  frivolous,  but  inasmuch  as  they  appertain 
to  noted  individuals,  partake  in  the  dignity  of  the  as 
sociation,  and,  like  buttons  of  cheese-paring  on  a  satin 
doublet,  become  illustrious  by  the  company  they  keep. 
Nothing  indeed  is  more  certain  and  irrefragable,  than 
that  every  thing  connected  with  an  important  gentle 
man  must  of  necessity  be  proportionably  important. 
The  world  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  motions  of  or 
dinary  men,  on  ordinary  occasions  ;  whether  they  have 
•a  good  appetite  and  good  digestion,  or  are  in  a  good 
or  bad  humour,  is  a  matter  of  indifference.  But  it  is 
far  otherwise  with  great  persons,  whose  every  trivial 


22       MEMOIR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  AUTHOR. 

act.  is  felt  like  a  pulsation  running  through  the  uni 
verse.  Should  a  tailor  prick  his  finger  with  a  needle, 
or  a  worthy  citizen  invite  his  friends  to  a  dinner,  no 
body  is  the  worse  or  the  wiser  but  themselves.  But 
such  matters  relating  to  kings  and  people  of  con'se- 
quence  are  thought  worthy  of  the  most  minute  re 
cord.  Hence  it  is,  that  the  most  trifling  acts  of 
illustrious  persons  are  matters  of  profound  interest 
to  common  folks,  and  that  the  literary  world  hath  re 
ceived  such  singular  satisfaction  from  being  credibly 
certified  that  my  Lord  Byron  drank  gin  and  water 
and  tied  his  collar  with  a  black  ribbon,  and  that  the 
Great  Unknown  is  wonderfully  addicted  to  Scotch 
herrings  and  whiskey  punch. 

It  is  doubtless  for  the  same  reasons,  that  almost 
every  book  of  any  pretensions  to  distinction  is  embel 
lished  with  a  likeness  of  the  author,  which,  to  those 
who  have  never  had  the  happiness  of  seeing  him, 
conveys  a  tolerably  accurate  idea  of  what  he  is  not, 
and  is  wonderfully  calculated  to  deceive  the  world  in 
regard  to  his  capacity.  This  we  consider  a  serious 
grievance,  and  the  more  that,  since  the  discovery  of 
the  new  science  of  Phrenology,  were  the  head  accu 
rately  represented,  every  reader  might  form  a  judg 
ment  of  the  contents  and  character  of  a  book  from 
that  alone,  and  thus  avoid  the  task  of  reading  it. 
Critics  in  particular  would  be  benefited,  since  they 
would  be  entirely  relieved  from  exercising  their  taste 
and  discernment  in  estimating  the  merits  of  a  work, 
by  an  examination  of  the  organs  of  development  in 
the  skull  of  the  author. 

In  addition  to  the  supposed  likeness  of  the  author, 
it  has  become  the  practice  to  favour  the  public  with 


MEMOIR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  AUTHOR.        23 

an  autograph,  videlicet  a  fac-simile  of  his  signature, 
which  acts  as  a  sort  of  security  against  counterfeits, 
and  is  equivalent  to  an  endorsement  showing  the 
work  to  be  genuine.  The  idea  is  probably  borrowed 
from  the  vendors  of  quack  medicines,  who,  in  order 
to  prevent  any  impositions  upon  the  public  but  what 
are  practised  by  themselves,  are  careful  to  caution  the 
purchasers  against  nostrums  not  verified  by  their  own 
hands.  This  fashion  of  prefixing  the  signature  of 
authors  to  their  works  might  prove  rather  dangerous, 
by  enabling  rogues  to  counterfeit  them,  were  it  not 
that  such  forgeries  would  prove  of  but  little  advantage, 
seeing  that  authors  seldom  have  either  much  money 
or  credit  in  the  banks  to  incite  the  cupidity  of  rogues. 
Hence  the  practice  hath  hitherto  proved  of  no  detri 
ment  to  authors,  while  it  has  been  found  highly  ad 
vantageous  to  the  reader,  by  enabling  him  to  decide 
on  the  character  of  the  former,  not  by  the  aid  of  a 
biography  invented  by  some  good-natured  friend,  but 
by  the  infallible  criterion  of  his  handwriting,  than 
which  nothing  can  be  more  decisive  of  an  author's 
genius. 

It  is  with  great  regret  we  apprise  the  public,  that, 
after  much  diligent  search  and  inquiry,  we  have  not 
been  able  to  obtain  an  authentic  likeness  of  our  un 
known  author,  nor  a  specimen  of  his  autograph.  At 
one  time  we  flattered  ourselves  we  had  detected  the 
former  upon  a  sign-post  on  the  road  leading  from  the 
Quarantine  to  Castleton  on  Staten  Island,  but  it  un 
fortunately  turned  out  to  be  a  portraiture  of  Captain 
Kidd,  the  famous  corsair.  With  regard  to  his  signa 
ture,  we  have  failed  equally  in  our  researches.  Mr. 
Abraham  Acker,  of  Staten  Island,  to  whose  authority 


24       MEMOIR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  AUTHOR. 

we  shall  frequently  refer  hereafter,  is  rather  of  opinion 
that  he  recollects  having  heard  his  father  say,  or  else 
that  he  dreamed  something  of  the  kind,  that  our 
author  always  made  his  mark  instead  of  signing  his 
name  at  length.  But  this  supposition  we  think  quite 
inadmissible,  as  we  never  recollect  to  have  heard  of 
any  man  becoming  illustrious  as  an  author,  who  was 
unacquainted  with  the  art  of  writing.  We  might 
easily  have  invented  an  autograph,  in  all  probability 
as  like  that  of  our  author  as  most  things  of  the  kind, 
but  we  scorn  every  species  of  imposition,  and  have 
preferred  omitting  these  important  concomitants  of  a 
modern  book,  to  foisting  upon  the  public  anything 
spurious  or  doubtful.  The  work  must  take  its  chance, 
therefore,  without  either  a  portrait  or  an  autograph. 

We  disclaim  all  pretensions  to  novelty  when  we 
observe  that  the  lives  of  literary  persons  are  for  the 
most  part  destitute  of  interest  and  adventure.  In 
days  long  past  they  lived  in  garrets,  and  nothing  was 
more  common  than  to  find  them  starved  or  frozen  to 
death  of  a  frosty  morning.  Now,  however,  in  this 
golden  age  of  authors,  we  find  them  figuring  in  draw 
ing-rooms,  drinking  toasts  and  making  speeches  at 
public  entertainments,  and  performing  all  those  great 
actions  which  cause  a  man  to  be  wondered  at  while 
living  and  forgotten  when  dead.  Still,  it  is  doubtless 
no  small  satisfaction  to  the  curious  reader  to  know 
that  there  is  nothing  to  be  known  worth  knowing 
concerning  the  author  whose  work  he  is  about  to  des 
patch.  It  is  to  gratify  this  laudable  propensity  that 
we  proceed  to  detail  the  following  particulars  respect 
ing  the  person  who  is  shrewdly  suspected  of  having 
indited  the  following  Tales. 


MEMOIR   OF   THE   UNKNOWN   AUTHOR.  25 

Concerning  his  family  we  regret  to  say  little  is 
known.  Mr.  Abraham  Acker,  of  Staten  Island,  the 
only  person  living  who  recollects  any  circumstances 
connected  with  our  author,  thinks  he  remembers  to 
have  heard  him  say  that  he  came  of  the  same  stock 
with  the  Grand  Turk,  the  Great  Mogul,  the  emperor 
of  China,  Prester  John,  the  king  of  England,  and 
divers  other  notabilities ;  but  of  this  Mr.  Acker,  who 
we  regret  to  say  has  nearly  lost  his  memory,  has  great 
doubts.  A  similar  uncertainty  rests  on  the  place,  as 
well  as  the  time,  of  his  birth.  When  questioned  as 
to  the  first,  he  usually  replied,  that  he  was  born  in  the 
Republic  of  Elsewhere ;  but,  as  we  cannot  find  such 
a  place  on  any  modern  map,  we  are  inclined  to  be 
lieve  the  worthy  gentleman  was  partly  mistaken. 

So  with  respect  to  the  time  of  his  birth,  which  he 
once  boasted  was  on  the  very  day  of  the  very  year 
that  the  Dutch  took  Holland ;  but  in  what  year  of 
our  Lord  that  happened  we  profess  ourselves  ignorant. 
But  although  neither  the  time  nor  the  place  of  his 
birth  can  now  probably  be  ascertained,  there  is  only 
the  greater  elbow-room  for  conjecture.  From  his  well- 
remembered  fondness  for  hasty-pudding  and  pumpkin- 
pies,  it  might  be  inferred  that  he  was  a  native  of 
Connecticut.  Mr.  Abraham  Acker  has  a  notion  that 
he  has  some  idea  of  hearing  his  father  say  that  this 
was  the  case ;  but  cannot  be  certain  whether  it  was 
hasty-pudding  and  pumpkin-pies,  or  plum-pudding 
and  apple-dumplings,  to  which  our  author  was  so 
incontinently  given.  We  will  therefore  content  our 
selves  with  stating  the  doubt,  and  leave  the  courteous 
reader  to  draw  his  own  conclusions.  All  we  shall  say 
is,  that  seven  villages,  that  will  no  doubt  live  to  be 


26  MEMOIR   OF   THE   UNKNOWN   AUTHOR. 

great  cities,  have  long  hotly  disputed  the  glory  of  his 
birth  ;  an  honour  we  consider  quite  equal  to  the  con 
test  of  seven  ruined  cities  for  the  nativity  of  Daniel, 
or,  (as  he  hath  been  flippantly  called),  Dan,  Homer. 

On  questioning  Mr.  Acker  still  farther  and  more 
closely,  we  gathered  that  our  author  was  deeply  read 
in  the  Dutch  language  and  antiquities ;  and  that  he 
not  only  smoked  mortally,  but  spoke  reverently  of 
St.  Nicholas  and  Admiral  Van  Tromp.  He  likewise 
affected  Dutch  sermons  and  Dutch  psalms.  We  our 
selves  are,  for  these  reasons,  rather  inclined  to  the  sup 
position  of  his  having  been  originally  derived  from 
Holland ;  and  in  this  we  agree  with  Mr.  Acker,  who 
thinks  he  once  heard  his  father  hazard  a  speculation 
that  he  was  of  "  Dutch  distraction,"  as  Mr.  Acker  is 
pleased  to  express  it.  But,  adverse  to  this  hypothesis, 
there  is  another  fact  remembered  by  Mr.  Acker,  to 
wit :  that  he  had  a  most  pestilent  and  arrant  propen 
sity  to  grumbling  and  finding  fault  upon  all  improper 
occasions,  whence  it  might  reasonably  be  inferred  that 
he  had  some  affinity  with  the  English  blood.  As 
however  we  cannot  learn  that  he  ever  obfuscated  his 
intellectual  faculties  with  small-beer,  or  attempted  to 
hang  himself  even  in  the  most  gloomy  period  of  his 
fortunes,  but  on  the  contrary  did  demean  himself  like 
a  sober  man,  taking  the  ups  and  downs  of  life  as  they 
came,  we  consider  the  above  theory  as  untenable,  and 
the  matter  as  again  resolving  itself  into  its  original 
uncertainty. 

In  our  early  interviews  with  Mr.  Acker,  he  related 
a  fact  that  he  was  almost  sure  he  heard  from  some 
body,  which  served  to  settle  this  interesting  point  at 
once  —  namely,  that  our  author's  death  was  partly 


MEMOIR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  AUTHOR.       27 

laid  to  his  having  gone  twenty  miles  in  a  snow-storm 
to  hear  a  Dutch  sermon,  and  finding  on  his  arrival 
that  the  vestry  had  decided  upon  having  their  preach 
ing  ever  after  in  the  English  tongue.  But  what  was 
our  annoyance  when,  on  a  succeeding  interview  with 
Mr.  Acker,  we  found  he  could  recollect  nothing  of  the 
matter,  and  was  inclined  to  believe  his  memory  was 
not  so  good  as  it  was  in  the  Old  French  War.  It  is 
therefore  with  no  little  regret,  as  well  as  mortification, 
that  we  are  compelled  to  sit  down  under  the  painful 
conviction  that  the  parentage  of  our  author,  as  well 
a&  the  time  and  place  of  his  birth,  are  matters  now  for 
ever  beyond  the  reach  of  inquiry. 

Having  thus  proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  reader 
that  nothing  is  to  be  gathered  worth  knowing  about 
him,  we  shall  proceed  to  discuss  his  life,  character, 
and  actions,  of  which,  as  very  little  is  known,  we  shall 
have  occasion  to  say  a  great  deal.  It  appears,  from 
the  testimony  of  Mr.  Acker,  that  the  Alma  Mater  of 
our  author  was  a  log-hut,  which  was  standing  some 
fifty  years  since  at  the  cross-roads,  about  half  a  mile 
from  Castleton.  Here  he  was  taught  by  the  best  of 
all  possible  teachers,  self;  the  school-master,  a  gallant 
bachelor  and  somewhat  of  a  roue,  for  the  most  part 
spending  the  school-hours  in  social  chat  with  a  win 
some,  black-eyed  dame,  who  lived  just  by,  and  whose 
husband,  being  a  pedler,  was  frequently  abroad,  specu 
lating  in  old  iron  and  goose-feathers.  The  scholars 
were  thus  left  to  follow  the  bent  of  their  genius ;  and 
Mr.  Acker  affirms  that  the  excellence  of  this  system 
was  in  after  times  demonstrated,  not  only  in  the  vast 
genius  of  our  author,  but,  in  like  manner,  by  the  fact 
that  he  himself  rose  to  the  rank  of  a  justice  of  the 


28       MEMOIR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  AUTHOR. 

peace,  while  three  or  four  of  his  school-mates  became 
members  of  the  legislature.  There  is  little  doubt  that 
they  would  have  become  still  more  illustrious,  had  not 
the  school  been  suddenly  dissolved  by  the  elopement 
of  the  master  with  the  black-eyed  pedler's  wife,  whom 
he  carried  off  triumphantly  in  one  of  the  honest  man's 
own  tin-carts.  Hereupon  the  sprightly  younkers  set 
up  a  great  shout,  and  scampered  home,  right  glad  of 
releasement  from  such  durance  vile. 

Our  author,  after  this,  pursued  the  bent  of  his 
genius  a  year  or  two  in  doing  nothing  ;  being,  accord 
ing  to  tradition,  a  most  determined  idler,  whose  prin 
cipal  amusement  was  to  join  in  those  little  parties  so 
common  in  country  villages,  where  you  may  see  one 
man  at  work  and  half  a  dozen  looking  on.  This  how 
ever  soon  gave  way  to  the  delight  of  all  delights  to 
the  contemplative  philosopher,  to  wit:  angling.  He 
would  sit  on  the  rocky  projection  of  some  bold  prom 
ontory  jutting  out  into  the  unparalleled  Hudson,  the 
chief  of  all  rivers,  and  put  Job  himself  to  shame. 
Morning,  noon,  and  evening,  there  he  sat  watching 
the  end  of  his  pole,  and  plunged  in  that  delicious 
vacuum,  when  the  mind  as  it  were  resigning  its  bright 
sceptre,  an  interregnum  succeeds  and  one  calm  noth 
ingness  pervades  existence.  Tradition  says  he  sat  so 
long,  that  at  last  he  actually  grew  to  the  rock,  and,  in 
the  attempt  to  extricate  himself,  was  happy  to  escape 
with  a  whole  skin  by  leaving  an  essential  portion  of 
his  breeches  sticking  to  a  projection  of  hornblende,  a 
monument  to  his  immortal  glory. 

It  was  thus  that,  buried  in  reveries  and  abstractions, 
he  attuned  his  mind  to  the  depths  of  philosophy,  and 
learned  the  most  important  of  all  arts,  that  of  think- 


MEMOIR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  AUTHOR.        29 

ing.  But  his  course  of  philosophy  was  too  soon  in 
terrupted,  by  his  being  sent  to  another  school  in 
Jersey,  about  ten  miles  from  his  home,  as  he  hath 
frequently  mentioned  to  Mr.  Acker  with  tears  in  his 
eyes.  Here  he  staid  with  an  old  relative  who  lived 
by  himself,  about  three  miles  from  the  school.  The 
way  was  by  a  solitary  "turpentine  walk,"  as  Mr. 
Acker  expresses  it,  which  led  along  the  devious  wind 
ings  of  a  pretty  stream,  running  at  the  foot  of  a  hill. 
If  any  of  our  readers  have  ever  in  their  boyish  days 
been  condemned  to  a  solitary  walk  like  this,  in  their 
way  to  and  from  school,  they  can  judge  how  tedi 
ous,  how  irksome,  how  endless  it  was  to  a  sprightly 
lad,  full  of  life,  health,  mischief,  and  wantonness. 
Man  was  not  born  to  live  alone,  nor,  more  especially, 
were  boys.  Often,  as  he  said  to  Mr.  Acker,  has  he 
sat  down  at  the  foot  of  some  old  tree,  and  played 
truant  all  day  in  weeping  over  his  loneliness.  His 
only  resource,  as  .Mr.  Acker  expresses  it,  was  "  to  wrap 
himself  up  in  himself,"  by  which  we  understand  that 
he  tried  to  forget  the  past  and  the  present,  by  looking 
to  the  future.  His  sole  companion  in  those  lonely 
walks  was  a  poor  dumb  girl,  who  sometimes  rambled 
with  him,  and  who  is  believed  to  be  the  heroine  of  the 
story  of  Phoebe  Angevine,  in  the  following  collec 
tion. 

Our  author,  agreeably  to  his  own  account  deliv 
ered  at  various  times  in  desultory  conversations  with 
his  friend  Mr.  Acker,  continued  this  mode  of  life, 
passing  and  repassing  to  and  from  school,  with  no 
other  associate,  except  his  own  melancholy  thoughts, 
for  upwards  of  three  years.  During  this  period  his 
leisure  hours  were  principally  passed  in  wool-gather- 


30  MEMOIR   OF   THE   UNKNOWN   AUTHOIl. 

ing,  and  the  cultivation  of  the  noble  science  of  castle- 
building.  His  winter  evenings  he  spent,  for  the  most 
part,  by  the  kitchen  fireside,  in  listening  to  the  tradi 
tionary  lore  of  an  old  black  sybil,  almost  blind,  but 
wonderfully  fond  of  frightening  delighted  youngsters 
and  listening  country-maids  with  stories  of  witches, 
goblins,  Indians,  and  Revolutionary  horrors.  By  lis 
tening  to  the  frequent  repetition  of  these  rural  ro 
mances  he  appears  to  have  been  imbued  with  that  not 
uncommon  species  of  credulity  in  which  the  mind, 
sometimes  sinking  under,  at  others  triumphing  over, 
the  delusions  of  the  imagination,  alternately  derides 
and  trembles,  laughs  at  and  believes,  according  as  we 
happen  to  be  in  sunshine  and  society,  or  alone  and  in 
darkness. 

At  the  expiration  of  three  years  he  left  school,  or 
the  school  left  him,  we  cannot  ascertain  which ;  and 
here,  as  he  was  wont  to  say,  ended  his  scholastic 
studies.  He  often  hinted  to  his  friend  Mr.  Acker  that 
he  was  early  thrown  upon  the  world  in  one  of  our 
great  cities,  the  name  of  which  Mr.  Acker  does  not 
recollect,  where  his  skill  in  castle- building  was  held  in 
little  or  no  estimation  when  put  in  comparison  with 
that  of  a  tolerable  mason  or  carpenter.  His  first 
vocation  was  that  of  junior  clerk  to  a  dry-goods-store 
keeper,  in  which  he  distinguished  himself  by  running 
his  nose  against  lamp  posts  and  being  run  over  by 
carts,  when  going  upon  errands  —  in  selling  goods 
and  forgetting  to  take  pay  for  them  —  and  in  blowing 
a  cracked  flute  behind  the  counter  of  evenings,  so  vil- 
lanously,  that  he  drove  all  persons  of  common  sensi 
bility  to  the  other  side  of  the  street.  His  master,  who 
despised  philosophy,  abstraction,  and  the  fine  arts,  as 


MEMOIR   OF   THE   UNKNOWN    AUTHOR.  31 

desperate  enemies  to  the  first  of  all  arts,  that  of  mak 
ing  money,  lectured  him  daily,  and  finally  turned  him 
out  of  the  shop,  as  an  incurable  blockhead,  because 
he  refused  to  give  his  honour  that  a  piece  of  chintz, 
which  a  lady  was  cheapening,  was  actually  offered  at 
less  than  the  first  cost. 

Here  we  lose  sight  of  our  author  for  some  years, 
until  we  find  him,  according  to  his  friend  Mr.  Acker's 
recollection,  in  some  business  or  other,  the  precise 
nature  of  which  he  does  not  recollect.  He  remem 
bers,  however,  sufficient  to  know  that  our  author 
made  but  a  poor  business  of  it,  whatever  it  was.  He 
was  one  of  those  unlucky  people  who,  destined  as  they 
are  to  immortality,  seem  good  for  nothing  in  this  world 
while  living.  He  took  every  thing  by  the  left  hand, 
and  his  fingers  were  all  thumbs.  He  believed  every 
body,  and  trusted  every  body  ;  and  this  species  of  im 
plicit  faith  is  of  no  great  value  in  temporal  things. 
Such  a  man  is  always  a  mark  for  the  little  rogues  of 
this  world,  and  never  fails  to  allure  about  him  a  circle 
of  petty  depredators  that  are  sure  to  bring  him  to  ruin 
at  last.  This  appears  to  have  been  the  case  with  our 
author,  who,  as  it  would  seem,  lost  his  money,  if  he 
ever  had  any,  his  credit  and  his  patience,  and  suddenly 
turning  from  the  extreme  of  credulity  to  that  of  scep 
ticism,  became  a  hater  and  despiser  of  the  world. 
Like  the  rest  of  mankind,  he  judged  of  it  as  he  found, 
or  rather  made,  it  himself;  and  converted  the  little 
swarm  of  plunderers,  whom  his  easy  credulity  had 
attracted  from  the  general  mass  to  fatten  upon  him, 
into  the  representatives  of  the  whole  hive. 

It  appears  from  circumstances  that  our  author  re 
sented  his  misfortunes  so  seriously  that  he  quarrelled 


32  MEMOIR   OF   THE    UNKNOWN   AUTHOR. 

with  the  world  outright ;  and,  to  revenge  himself  the 
more  effectually,  retired  into  the  bosom  of  Staten  Isl 
and.  Here  he  took  lodgings  at  an  obscure  inn,  on  a 
by-road  leading  from  the  Narrows  to  the  Blazing  Star 
Ferry,*  where  he  lived  upon  fhe  lean,  or  rather  picked 
the  bones,  of  the  land.  This  house,  which  has  lately 
been  pulled  down,  was  at  that  time  kept  by  a  whim 
sical  old  bachelor,  who,  having  in  early  life  been  jilted 
by  a  buxom  little  Dutch  damsel,  in  revenge  put  up 
the  sign  of  a  woman  without  a  head,  which  he  called 
"  THE  GOOD  WOMAN,"  thereby  maliciously  insinuating 
a  horrible  libel  on  the  whole  sex.  Never  man,  —  ac 
cording  to  Mr.  Acker,  who  resided  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  from  the  "  Good  Woman,"  —  never  man  lived 
upon  so  little,  or  made  a  suit  of  clothes  last  so  long, 
as  did  our  author.  Nobody  could  tell  exactly  how 
he  lived,  for  he  neither  begged,  borrowed,  nor  stole, 
nor  did  he  labour  with  his  hands,  except  in  writing, 
which  he  did  great  part  of  the  day,  deducting  the 
long  intervals  when  he  sat  with  pen  suspended  in  his 
hand,  watching  as  it  were  the  smoke  as  it  curled  from 
the  landlord's  pipe,  in  a  state  of  perfect  "  distraction," 
as  Mr.  Acker  expressed  it.  We  ourselves  are  of  opin 
ion  he  meant  abstraction;  but  the  difference  is  not 
material.  It  is  not  our  business  to  solve  the  mystery 
how  authors  manage  to  exist  in  this  world ;  we  mean 
those  who  are  condemned  to  live  by  their  wits,  with 
out  the  aid  of  fashionable  friends,  fashionable  review 
ers,  and  fashionable  readers.  We  leave  the  solution 
to  Him  who  watches  over  the  fall  of  a  sparrow,  and 
who  sent  the  ravens  to  feed  the  prophet  in  the  wilder- 

*  The  "  Blazing  Star  "  was  a  tavern  at  Woodbridge,  New  Jersey,  several 
miles  from  the  ferry  known  by  its  name. 


MEMOIR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  AUTHOR.        33 

ness.  There  are  certain  invisible  means,  inscrutable 
to  the  fat  kine,  by  which  the  lean  kine,  among  which 
we  emphatically  reckon  the  class  of  authors  alluded 
to,  manage  to  live,  and  move,  and  have  a  being,  as  it 
were  in  spite  of  nature  and  fate.  Far  be  it  from  us 
to  draw  the  veil  from  over  the  hallowed  retreats  of 
indigent,  un patronized  genius,  struggling  with  the 
neglect  of  the  world  and  its  own  worldly  incapaci 
ties,  and  finally,  perhaps,  reaching  the  goal  of  immor 
tality  through  the  gloomy  solitudes  of  a  prison. 

Here  our  author  resided  during  the  remainder 
of  his  days,  which  space  of  time  comprises  almost 
twenty  years.  During  all  this  period  he  was  absent 
but  three  times,  and,  on  those  occasions,  (as  we  have 
taken  the  freedom  to  suppose),  only  for  the  purpose 
of  disposing  of  his  writings ;  for  it  is  difficult  to  com 
prehend  what  other  business  he  could  have.  He 
formed  no  intimacy  except  with  Mr.  Acker,  whose 
countenance  as  a  magistrate  was  convenient  in  de 
fending  him  against  the  prying  curiosity  of  the  neigh 
bourhood,  and  those  evil  suggestions  which  mystery, 
however  innocent  and  unaffected,  is  sure  to  excite. 
The  only  remarkable  actions  he  performed  in  the 
course  of  this  long  sojourn  among  the  simple  children 
of  the  fields  and  woods,  were  killing  an  opossum 
and  a  rattle-snake  with  sixteen  rattles,  the  last  that 
ever  were  seen  on  the  island  —  exploits,  which  in 
the  opinion  of  Squire  Acker,  call  loudly  for  a  biog 
raphy.  Finally  he  died,  at  the  supposed  age  of  four 
score  and  ten  years,  without  pain,  and  without  fear, 
as  a  blameless  old  man  should  die;  and  slept,  not 
with  his  fathers,  but  among  the  children  of  strangers, 
who  knew  not  even  whence  he  came- 

3 


34        MEMOIR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  AUTHOR. 

The  younger  Mr.  Acker  —  so  he  is  styled  by  his 
neighbours  though  now  nearly  ninety  years  old  — 
has  unluckily  forgotten  our  author's  name :  neither 
is  there  any  person  living  who  remembers  it,  so  far 
as  we  have  been  able  to  ascertain.  Though  this 
must  of  necessity  be  a  great  disappointment  to  the 
curious  reader,  yet  we  know  not  that  it  is  a  circum 
stance  much  to  be  lamented.  On  the  contrary,  we 
are  inclined  to  believe  that  the  obscurity  which,  in 
spite  of  all  our  researches,  still  hovers  in  misty  vague 
ness  over  his  birth,  his  life,  his  family,  and  his  name, 
may  contribute  materially  to  the  interest  and  popu 
larity  of  the  present  work.  Obscurity  is  held  to  be 
one  of  the  prime  sources  of  the  sublime;  and  it  is 
a  subject  worthy  of  investigation,  how  far  the  sub 
limity  of  a  work  may  depend  upon  its  author  being 
either  entirely  unknown,  or  only  suspected  by  the 
public.  However  this  may  be,  certain  it  is,  that  a 
detected  author,  like  a  detected  criminal,  does  not 
stand  the  best  chance  of  being  admired  by  his  friends. 
Having  now  told  all  we  know  of  our  author,  we  shall 
proceed  to  account  for  the  manner  in  which  the  pres 
ent  work  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  editor,  who  has 
lost  no  time  in  giving  it  (as  the  genteel  phrase  is)  to 
the  world. 

In  the  course  of  last  summer  there  died  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  city  a  very  wealthy  old  gentle 
man,  whose  heirs,  according  to  a  pious  and  long- 
established  custom,  quarrelling  about  the  division 
of  the  estate,  it  was  disposed  of  at  public  auction. 
Among  his  most  valuable  possessions  was  a  large 
library  containing  many  rare  books  and  manuscripts, 
which,  being  of  no  use  to  the  heirs,  were  sold  for 


MEMOIR  OP  THE  UNKNOWN  AUTHOR.        35 

what  they  would  bring.  The  manuscript  from  which 
the  following  tales  have  been  selected  was  one  of 
these.  It  was  a  prime  favourite  with  the  worthy  old 
gentleman,  who  used  to  read  it  to  his  family  with 
great  effect  of  a  long  winter's  evening,  and  it  is  re 
corded  that  not  one  of  them  ever  fell  asleep  on  these 
occasions,  except  when  they  were  very  tired.  If  the 
reader  requires  any  other  proof  of  the  excellence  of 
the  manuscript,  he  will  doubtless  find  it  in  a  perusal 
of  the  following  tales,  which  are  faithfully  printed 
from  the  original,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  slight 
alterations  in  the  spelling,  which  we  have  made  on 
the  authority  of  Mr.  Webster's  truly  valuable  diction 
ary.  How  the  deceased  old  gentleman  came  by  the 
manuscript  is  not  exactly  known :  but  Mr.  Abraham 
Acker  has  some  remote  idea  of  hearing,  or  dreaming 
he  heard,  our  author  about  a  year  before  his  death 
boast  with  no  small  degree  of  exultation,  that  he  had 
sold  a  manuscript  work,  which  cost  him  only  eighteen 
years'  labour,  for  fifteen  silver  dollars,  to  an  old  gen 
tleman  living  in  the  vicinity  of  New  York.  There 
can  be  no  hesitation  in  believing  this  must  have  been 
the  identical  work  a  selection  from  which  is  now  of-' 
fered  to  the  public,  especially  when  we  assure  the 
reader  that  Mr.  Acker  assured  us,  that  he  almost 
recollects  crossing  the  ferry  about  this  time  with  our 
author,  who  carried  a  large  bundle  of  papers  under 
his  arm.  This  circumstance  fastened  itself  on  his 
memory,  by  the  phenomenon  which  accompanied  the 
old  gentleman's  return,  to  wit,  the  jingling  of  his 
pockets. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  deceased  gentleman  placed 
almost  as  high  a  value  upon  this  acquisition  as  if  it 


36       MEMOIR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  AUTHOR. 

could  be  traced  in  a  direct  line  from  a  Coptic  monas 
tery  in  Upper  Egypt.  Whether  this  was  owing  to 
its  intrinsic  value,  or  to  its  being  unquestionably 
unique,  must  be  left  to  the  judgment  of  the  reader. 
At  all  events  the  possessor  esteemed  himself  fortu 
nate  while  living;  but  died  somewhat  more  than  a 
twelvemonth  ago.  His  property,  as  we  before  pre 
mised,  was  sold,  and  has  passed  into  the  hands  of 
strangers.  The  old  house  was  purchased  and  pulled 
down  by  a  lucky  speculator  in  gas  stock,  who  began 
to  build  a  vast  wooden  palace  for  his  posterity  to  sell ; 
but  he  unluckily  failed  before  it  was  finished,  in  con 
sequence  of  dipping  a  little  too  deep  in  a  cotton- 
speculation,  whereby  he  got  nearly  smothered,  and 
was  fain  to  go  back  to  his  honest  calling  of  a  shaver. 
What  was  most  to  be  regretted,  however,  was  the 
sale  and  dispersion  of  the  old  gentleman's  library, 
consisting,  among  other  valuables,  of  Souvenirs,  mag 
azines,  romances,  novels,  tales,  lying  reports  of  socie 
ties,  orations,  biographies,  and  poems,  all  of  the  very 
latest  production.  This  was  done  by  the  authority 
of  persons  whose  names  we  forbear  to  drag  before 
the  world,  although  we  cannot  but  regret  that  dispo 
sition  to  slight  learning,  so  prevalent  in  this  busy, 
thriving,  and  opulent  metropolis.  For  our  humble 
part,  we  were  not  so  fortunate  as  to  inherit  any  thing 
from  our  father  but  a  good  name ;  but,  if  we  had,  we 
would  not  have  sold  his  old  mansion-house,  provided 
he  had  left  one,  so  long  as  we  could  have  kept  it  with 
out  robbing  others  of  their  due.  Far  less  would  we 
have  disposed  of  those  books  that  bore  his  venerated 
name  —  those  "dead  friends,"  as  the  Indians  beauti 
fully  describe  them,  which  were  the  blessing  of  his 


MEMOIR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  AUTHOR.        37 

leisure,  the  fountains  of  his  wisdom,  the  companions 
of  his  old  age,  —  to  purchase  all  the  luxuries  of  mod 
ern  frippery.  But  we  beg  pardon  of  all  weeping  heirs 
and  melancholy  legatees,  for  this  digression. 

It  was  truly  mortifying,  as  showing  the  uncertain 
tenure  of  immortal  fame,  to  see  the  treasures  of  fashion 
able  literature  knocked  down  for  almost  nothing,  by 
the  ignorant,  unfeeling  auctioneer,  who,  it  was  ap 
parent,  had  no  more  respect  for  books  than  a  Turk. 
Some  one  indeed  bid  off  Miss  Edge  worth  at  a  high 
price,  which  seemed  to  astonish  the  man  of  the  ham 
mer,  who  observed  she  had  been  long  out  of  date. 
"You  are  mistaken,"  replied  the  purchaser;  "wit, 
and  a  keen  observation  of  life  and  manners,  based 
on  good  sense,  can  never  be  out  of  date,  though  they 
may  be  out  of  fashion."  The  English  annuals  were 
struck  off  to  a  picture-virtuoso,  who  declared  his  in 
tention  of  cutting  out  the  plates,-  and  throwing  the 
rest  away.  The  American  Souvenirs  were  knocked 
on  the  head  by  an  unlucky  observation  from  a  spruce 
Englishman,  who  observed  that  they  had  not  cost  one 
tenth  as  much  as  "  The  Keepsake,"  which  had  been 
got  up  at  an  expense  of  eleven  thousand  guineas. 
The  purchaser  of  The  Keepsake,  on  hearing  this,  fan 
cied  he  had  got  possession  of  a  treasure,  though  he 
had  only  gained  the  sweepings  of  English  literature, 
sanctioned  by  popular  names,  and  embellished  with  a 
parcel  of  engravings  from  worn-out  plates.  Don  Juan 
was  bought  by  a  young  gentleman  in  whiskers,  who 
was  educating  himself  for  a  roue ;  and  The  Corsair, 
by  a  black-looking,  weather-beaten,  mysterious  person, 
who  was  shrewdly  suspected  of  being  one  of  the  gang 
of  pirates  dispersed  and  annihilated  by  the  gallant 


38  MEMOIR   OF   THE   UNKNOWN   AUTHOR. 

Commodore  Porter.  The  Loves  of  the  Angels,  Lit 
tle's  Poems,  and  divers  others  of  the  same  author, 
were  purchased  for  almost  nothing  by  a  middle  aged 
lady  dressed  in  the  extravagance  of  the  mode,  whom 
I  afterwards  recognized  at  the  police-court  as  the  mis 
tress  of  a  disorderly  house.  Another,  but  staid,  grave 
female,  in  a  plaid  cloak,  secured  a  bushel  of  the  latest 
popular  English  poetry,  for  the  use  of  her  nursery, 
observing  that  such  had  been  the  rapid  "develop 
ment"  of  mind  within  a  few  years  past,  that  the  little 
children  turned  up  their  noses  at  Giles  Gingerbread 
and  Goody  Two-Shoes.  In  short,  a  fashionable  au 
thor,  who  thought  himself  sure  of  immortality,  might 
here  have  received  a  mortifying  lesson  of  the  transi 
tory  nature  of  popular  applause,  and  sighed  over  the 
anticipation  of  speedy  oblivion.  The  last  and  most 
lamentable  of  these  sacrifices  was  that  of  the  London 
Literary  Gazette  and  Blackwood's  Magazine,  which 
were  bought  for  six  cents  a  volume,  by  a  famous  gro 
cer,  who,  comparatively  speaking,  hath  destroyed  more 
valuable  works  in  the  course  of  his  business  than  were 
consumed  in  the  Alexandrian  Library. 

It  may  be  asked  why  we  ourselves  did  not  appropri 
ate  some  of  these  ineffable  varieties.  Well,  we  had 
reasons  for  declining,  which,  however  old-fashioned 
and  obsolete,  are  not  the  worst  in  the  world.  We  were 
fain  to  limit  ourselves  to  the  purchase  of  the  manu 
script  to  which  we  have  so  frequently  alluded,  for  a 
sum  which  will  be  kept  a  profound  secret.  Whether 
it  was  so  large  as  to  amount  to  an  imprudence  on  our 
part,  or  so  small  as  to  entitle  the  work  to  the  scorn  of 
all  fashionable  readers,  is  a  mystery  between  ourselves 
and  the  auctioneer,  who  hath  sworn  by  his  hammer 
not  to  reveal  it  except  to  posterity. 


MEMOIR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  AUTHOR.       39 

Before  concluding  this  interesting  portion  of  our 
editorial  labours,  we  will  pause  one  moment,  in  order 
to  anticipate  the  cavils  of  certain  critics,  who,  we  fore 
see,  will  be  inclined  to  make  themselves  amends  for 
not  being  able  to  find  fault  with  the  work  itself  (with 
out  doing  violence  to  their  consciences),  by  denying 
the  claims  of  our  author  to  his  own  labours.  Doubt 
less  they  will  insist  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  his 
tory  and  character  of  our  author,  or  in  the  scanty 
information  derived  from  Mr.  Acker,  to  justify  the 
assumption  of  his  being  capable  of  inditing  tales  dis 
playing  a  knowledge  of  life  and  an  acquaintance  with 
the  fashionable  world  such  as  is  found  in  the  follow 
ing  work. 

But  let  these  gentleman-cavillers,  who  think  they 
are  marvellously  conversant  with  high  life,  because 
they  have  read  the  Trip  to  Brighton  and  Almacks, 
and  perhaps  figured  at  the  tea-parties  of  some  rich 
broker  —  let  them  be  quiet,  as  becomes  them.  They 
know  no  more  of  fashionable  life  than  the  authors  of 
these  works,  or  the  broker  himself;  and  may  be  lik 
ened  to  the  mouse  who  fancied  he  had  tasted  the 
cream  of  the  cheese,  when  he  had  only  nibbled  at 
the  rind.  Let  them  be  told,  and  shut  their  mouths 
thereafter  for  ever,  that  there  is  no  place  in  which  a 
keen  observer  can  attain  to  a  clearer  knowledge  of 
the  foibles  and  peculiarities  of  fashionable  women, 
than  in  a  fashionable  store  or  tip-top  milliner's. 
Where  is  it  that  they  are  so  often  found  ?  and  where 
else  do  they  exhibit  their  tastes  and  propensities  so 
frankly?  It  is  there  that  their  little  caprices,  their 
indecision,  their  extravagances,  and  all  the  changeable 
silk  of  their  characters,  are  exhibited  without  disguise ; 


40        MEMOIR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  AUTHOR. 

and  it  was  doubtless  while  blowing  his  cracked  flute 
behind  the  counter  that  our  author  attained  to  that 
intimate  knowledge  as  well  as  nice  perception  of 
character,  so  agreeably  exhibited  in  the  following 
work,  which,  from  having  been  written  in  that  para 
dise  of  musketoes,  Staten  Island,  at  the  sign  of  the 
"  Good  Woman,"  he  hath  sportively  called,  "  TALES 
OF  THE  GOOD  WOMAN." 

To  that  class  of  ill-natured  and  prying  readers 
which  is  ever  finding  out  personal  allusions  and  in 
dividual  characters  in  the  most  innocent  generalities, 
we  will  content  ourselves  with  stating  that  our  author 
certainly  died  at  least  ten  years  ago,  according  to  the 
testimony  of  Mr.  Acker,  who  has  some  idea  of  having 
attended  his  funeral.  This  single  fact,  we  trust,  will 
serve  to  do  away  all  suspicion  of  any  allusion  to  the 
fashionable  society  of  to-day,  since  every  body  knows 
that  a  very  large  portion  of  those  who  figure  as  lead 
ers  in  the  beau  monde,  at  present,  \vere  utterly  un 
known  at  that  time. 

NEW  YORK,  April  1st,  1829. 


POSTSCRIPT. 

Since  writing  the  above  we  have  had  another  inter 
view  with  young  Mr.  Acker,  who  distinctly  recollects 
that  he  either  heard,  or  dreamed  he  heard,  our  author 
insinuate  that  he  was  the  identical  person  who  some 
few  years  since  figured,  in  the  old  National  Advocate, 
as  "  THE  LAST  OF  THE  COCKED  HATS." 


THE    AZURE    HOSE. 


THE   AZURE    HOSE. 


"  Sure  he  has  a  drum  in  his  mouth ! 
Clap  an  old  drum-head  to  his  feet, 
And  draw  the  thunder  downward." 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 

CHAPTER    I., 

OK 

THE     PROLOGUE. 

THERE  IS   REASON  IN   THE   BOILING   OF    EGGS,    AS    WELL    AS    IN    ROASTING 

THEM. 

IT  was  one  of  those  hypocritical  spring  mornings, 
so  peculiar  to  our  western  clime,  when  the  light, 
cheering  sunshine  invites  abroad  to  taste  the  balmy 
air,  but  when,  if  you  chance  to  accept  the  invitation, 
you  will  be  saluted  by  a  killing,  piercing,  sea-monster 
of  a  breeze,  which  chills  the  genial  current  of  the  soul, 
and  drives  you  shivering  to  the  fireside  to  warm  your 
fingers  and  complain  for  the  hundredth  time  of  the 
backwardness  of  the  season.  In  short,  it  was  a  non 
descript  day,  too  hot  for  a  great  coat,  and  too  cool  to 
go  without  one ;  when  one  side  of  the  street  was 
broiling  in  the  sun,  the  other  freezing  in  the  shade. 

Mr.  Lightfoot  Lee  was  seated  at  the  breakfast  table 
with  his  only  daughter,  Miss  Lucia  Lightfoot  Lee, 
one  of  the  prettiest  alliterations  ever  seen.  She  was 


44  THE   AZURE    HOSE. 

making  up  her  opinions  for  the  day,  from  the  latest 
number  of  the  London  Literary  Gazette,  and  mark 
ing  with  a  gold  self-sharpening  pencil  a  list  of  books 
approved  by  that  infallible  oracle,  for  the  circulating 
library.  Mr.  Lee  was  occupied  with  matters  of  more 
importance.  He  held  his  watch  in  one  hand,  a  news 
paper  in  the  other.  By  the  way,  if  I  wished  to  iden 
tify  a  North- American  beyond  all  question,  I  would 
exhibit  him  reading  a  newspaper.  But  at  present 
Mr.  Lee  seemed  employed  in  studying  his  watch, 
rather  than  the  paper.  He  had  good  reasons  for  it. 

Mr.  Lightfoot  Lee  was  exceedingly  particular  in 
boiling  his  eggs,  which  he  was  accustomed  to  say  re 
quired  more  discretion  than  any  other  branch  of  the 
great  art  of  cookery.  The  preparations  for  this  criti 
cal  affair  were  always  made  with  due  solemnity. 
First,  Mr.  Lee  sat  with  his  watch  in  his  hand,  and  the 
parlour  door,  as  well  as  all  the  other  doors  down  to 
the  kitchen,  wide  open.  At  the  parlour  door  stood 
Juba,  his  oldest,  most  confidential  servant.  At  the 
end  of  the  hall  leading  to  the  kitchen  stood  Pomp, 
the  coachman  ;  at  the  foot  of  the  kitchen  stairs  stood 
Benjamin,  the  footman ;  and  Dolly,  the  cook,  was 
watching  the  skillet.  "It  boils,"  cried  Dolly:  "It 
boils,"  said  Benjamin :  "  It  boils,"  said  Pompey  the 
great :  and,  "  It  boils,"  echoed  Juba,  Prince  of  Numi- 
dia.  "  Put  them  in,"  said  Mr.  Lee :  "  Put  them  in," 
said  Juba :  "  Put  them  in,"  said  Pomp  :  and,  "  Put  them 
in,"  cries  Dolly,  as  she  dropped  the  eggs  into  the  skil 
let.  Exactly  a  minute  and  a  half  afterwards,  by  his 
stop-watch,  Mr.  Lee  called  out,  "  Done  ;  "  and,  &  done  ", 
was  repeated  from  mouth  to  mouth,  as  before.  The 
perfection  of  the  whole  process  consisted  in  Dolly's 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  45 

whipping  out  the  eggs  in  half  a  second  from  the  last 
echo  of  the  critical,  "  done." 

The  eggs  were  boiled  to  his  satisfaction ;  and  Mr. 
Lee  ate,  and  pondered  over  the  newspaper,  by  turns. 
At  length,  all  at  once  he  started  up  in  a  violent  com 
motion,  and  stumped  about  the  room,  exclaiming  in 
an  under  tone  to  himself,  "  Too  bad  —  too  bad." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  father  ? "  said  Lucia  ;  "  is 
your  egg  overdone,  or  are  you  suffering  the  excrucia 
ting  pangs  of  the  gout,  or  enduring  the  deadly  inflic 
tion  of  a  hepatic  paroxysm  ?  " 

"  Hepatic  fiddle-stick  !  I  wish  to  heaven  you  would 
talk  English,  Lucia." 

"  My  dear  sir,  you  know  English  now  is  very  dif 
ferent  from  what  it  was  when  you  learned  it." 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,"  said  he  ;  "  it  is  as  different 
as  a  Quaker  bonnet  from  a  French  hat.  I  see  I  must 
go  to  school  again.  You  and  Mr.  Goshawk  talk 
Greek  to  me." 

"  Mr.  Goshawk  is  a  poet,  sir." 

"  Well,  there  is  no  particular  reason  why  a  poet 
should  not  talk  like  other  people,  at  least  on  common 
subjects." 

"  Ah!  sir,  the  poet's  eye  is  always  in  a  fine  frenzy 
rolling.  He  sees  differently  from  other  people  —  to 
him  the  sky  is  peopled  with  airy  beings." 

"  Ay ;  gnats,  flies,  and  devil's-darning-needles,"  said 
Mr.  Lee,  pettishly.  Lucia  was  half-angry,  and  put 
up  a  lip  as  red  as  a  cherry. 

"  Ah  !  too  bad,  too  bad,"  continued  Mr.  Lee,  stump 
ing  about  again  with  his  hands  behind  him. 

"  What  is  too  bad,  sir  ?  "  said  Lucia,  anxiously. 

"  What  is  too  bad  ?  "  cried  he  furiously,  advancing 


46  THE  AZURE  HOSE. 

towards  her  with  his  fist  doubled ;  "  that  puppy,  High- 
field,  has  not  got  the  first  honour  after  all,  I  see  by  the 
paper.  The  blockhead !  I  had  set  my  heart  upon  it, 
and,  see  here !,  he  is  at  the  tail  of  his  class." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  Why,  father,  I  am  glad  to  hear  it. 
Mr.  Goshawk  assures  me  that  genius  despises  the 
trammels  of  scholastic  rust,  and  soars  on  wings  of 
polished  "  — 

"  Wings  of  a  goose,"  cried  the  old  gentleman. 
He  had  a  provoking  way  of  interrupting  Lucia  in 
her  flights;  and,  had  she  not  been  one  of  the  best- 
natured  of  the  azure  tribe,  she  would  have  some 
times  lost  her  temper. 

"  He'll  be  home  to-morrow  —  I've  a  great  mind  to 
kick  him  out  of  doors." 

«  Whom,  dear  father  ?  " 

"  Why,  Highfield,  to  be  sure." 

"  For  what,  sir  ?  " 

"  For  not  getting  the  first  honour  —  the  puppy!  I 
wouldn't  care  a  stiver,  if  I  hadn't  set  my  heart  upon 
it."  And  away  the  good  man  stumped,  again  ejacu 
lating,  "  Too  bad,  too  bad —  I  shall  certainly  turn  him 
out  of  doors." 

"  Ah !  but  if  you  do,  sir,  I  shall  certainly  let  him  in 
again.  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  my  dear,  good-natured 
cousin  Charles  once  more,  though  he  has  not  got  the 
first  honour,"  said  Lucia,  smiling. 

What  more  might  have  been  said  on  this  subject 
was  cut  short  by  the  entrance,  without  ceremony,  of 
Mr.  Diodorus  Fairweather,  a  neighbour  and  most 
particular  friend  and  associate  of  Mr.  Lee.  These 
two  gentlemen  had  a  sincere  regard  for  each  other, 
kept  up  in  all  its  pristine  vigour  by  the  force  of  con- 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  47 

trast.  One  took  every  thing  seriously;  the  other 
considered  the  world,  and  all  things  in  it,  a  jest.  One 
worshipped  the  ancients ;  the  other  maintained  they 
were  not  worthy  of  tying  the  shoe-strings  of  the  mod 
erns.  One  insisted  that  the  world  was  going  back 
ward;  the  other,  that  it  was  rolling  onward  in  the 
path  of  improvement  beyond  all  former  example. 
One  was  a  violent  federalist ;  the  other  a  raging  demo 
crat.  They  never  opened  their  mouths  without  dis 
agreeing,  and  this  was  the  cement  of  their  friendship. 
The  mind  of  Mr.  Lee  was  not  fruitful,  and  that  of 
Mr.  Fairweather  was  somewhat  sluggish  in  suggest 
ing  topics  of  conversation.  Had  they  agreed  in  every 
thing  they  must  have  required  a  succession  of  sub 
jects  ;  but  uniformly  differing,  as  they  did  on  all  oc 
casions,  it  was  only  necessary  to  say  a  single  word, 
whether  it  conveyed  a  proposition  or  not,  and  there 
was  matter  at  once,  for  the  day. 

"  A  glorious  morning,"  said  Mr.  Fairweather,  rub 
bing  his  hands. 

"  I  differ  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Lee. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  sunshine." 

"  But,  my  good  sir,  if  you  observe,  there  is  a  cold, 
wet,  damp,  hazy,  opaque  sky,  through  which  the  sun 
cannot  penetrate ;  'tis  as  cold  as  December." 

"'Tis  as  warm  as  June,"  said  Mr.  Fairweather, 
laughing. 

"  Pish  ! "  said  Mr.  Lee,  taking  up  his  hat  mechani 
cally,  and  following  his  friend  to  the  door.  They 
sallied  forth  without  saying  a  word.  At  every  corner, 
however,  they  halted,  to  renew  the  discussion ;  they 
disputed  their  way  through  a  dozen  different  streets, 
and  finally  returned  home,  the  best  friends  in  the 


48  THE  AZURE  HOSE. 

world,  for  they  had  assisted  each  other  in  getting 
through  the  morning.  Mr.  Lee  invited  Mr.  Fair- 
weather  to  return  to  dinner,  and  he  accepted. 

"  Well,  it  does  not  signify,"  said  Mr.  Lee,  bobbing 
his  chin  up  and  down,  as  was  his  custom  when  utter 
ing  what  he  considered  an  infallible  dictum,  — "  It- 
does  not  signify,  but  that  Fairweather  is  enough 
to  provoke  a  saint.  I  never  saw  such  an  absurd,  ob 
stinate,  ill-natured,  passionate  "  — 

"  O,  father !  "  —  said  Lucia  ;  "  every  body  says  Mr. 
Fairweather  was  never  in  a  passion  in  his  life." 

"  Well,  but  he  is  the  cause  of  passion  in  others,  and 
that  is  the  worst  kind  of  ill-nature." 


CHAPTER  II. 

NECESSARY  TO   UNDERSTANDING  THE   FIRST. 

LIGHTFOOT  LEE,  Esq.,  was  a  gentleman  of  an 
honourable  family;  honourable,  not  only  from  its 
antiquity,  but  from  the  talents,  worth,  and  services  of 
its  deceased  members  and  its  present  representative. 
He  possessed  a  large  domain  in  one  of  the  southern 
states,  but  preferred  living  in  the  city  of  New  York 
during  the  period  in  which  his  daughter  Lucia,  who 
was  his  only  child,  was  acquiring  the  accomplishments 
of  a  fashionable  education.  He  was  a  good  scholar, 
and  had  seen  enough  of  the  frippery  of  life  to  relish 
the  beauties  of  an  unaffected  simplicity  in  speech  and 
action.  He  could  not  endure  to  hear  a  person  talking 
for  effect,  or  disturbing  the  pleasant,  unstudied  chit- 


THE    AZURE    HOSE.  49 

chat  of  a  social  party,  by  full-mouthed  declamations, 
and  inflated  nothings  delivered  with  all  the  pomp  of 
an  oracle.  Grimace  and  affectation  of  every  kind  he 
despised  ;  and,  among  the  affectations  of  the  day,  that 
which  is  vulgarly  called  a  blue-stocking  made  him  the 
most  impatient.  Among  the  admirers  whom  the  beauty 
and  fortune  of  Lucia  attracted  around  her,  his  most 
favourite  aversion  was  a  Mr.  Fitzgiles  Goshawk,  who 
wrote  doggerel  rhymes  almost  equal  to  Lord  Byron ; 
and  whose  conversation  perpetually  reminded  him,  as 
he  said,  of  a  falling  meteor,  which,  when  handled, 
proves  to  be  nothing  but  a  jelly  —  a  cold,  dull  mass, 
that  glitters  only  while  it  is  shooting. 

Lucia,  on  the  contrary,  though  naturally  a  fine,  sen 
sible  girl,  full  of  artless  simplicity,  and  free  from  all 
pretence  or  affectation,  admired  Mr.  Goshawk  exces 
sively.  He  had  written  much,  thought  little,  and 
spoken  a  great  deal.  He  had  been  admired  by  un 
questionable  judges,  as  the  best  imitator  extant ;  and 
had  passed  the  ordeal  of  the  London  Literary  Gazette. 
He  was  the  greatest  prodigal  on  earth  —  in  words; 
and  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  say  the  simplest 
thing  without  rising  into  a  certain  lofty  enthusiasm, 
flinging  his  metaphors  about  like  sky-rockets,  and  ser 
pentining  around  and  around  his  subject  like  an  en 
amoured  cock-pigeon. 

Our  heroine,  for  such  is  Lucia,  was,  we  grieve  to 
say  it,  a  little  of  the  azure  tint.  She  was  not  exactly 
blue,  but  she  certainly  inhabited  that  stripe  of  the 
rainbow ;  and,  when  reflected  on  by  the  bright  rays  of 
Mr.  Fitzgiles  Goshawk,  was  sometimes  of  the  deepest 
shade  of  indigo.  Then  her  words  were  mighty ;  her 
criticisms,  peremptory ;  her  tones,  decisive ;,  and  her 

4 


50  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

enthusiasm,  though  it  might  not  be  without  effect, 
was  certainly  without  cause.  At  times,  however, 
when  not  excited  by  the  immediate  contact  of  a  con 
genial  spirit,  she  would  become  simple,  natural,  touch 
ing,  affecting,  and  lovely.  Instead  of  standing  on 
stilts,  striving  at  wit,  and  challenging  admiration,  she 
would  remind  one  of  Allworthy's  description  of 
Sophia  Western.  "  I  never,"  says  that  good  man 
"  heard  any  thing  of  pertness,  or  what  is  called  repar 
tee,  out  of  her  mouth ;  no  pretence  to  wit,  much  less 
to  that  kind  of  wisdom  which  is  the  result  of  great 
learning  and  experience,  the  affectation  of  which,  in  a 
young  woman,  is  as  absurd  as  any  of  the  affectations 
of  an  ape."  Truth  obliges  us  to  say,  that  Lucia  only 
realized  this  fine  sketch  of  a  young  woman,  when  act 
ing  from  the  unstudied  impulses  of  nature,  among  her 
familiar  domestic  associates,  where  she  did  not  think 
it  worth  her  while  to  glitter.  Among  the  azure  hose 
of  the  fashionable  world,  she  strove,  to  shine,  the 
sun  of  the  magic  circle,  until  one  turned  away,  as 
from  the  sun,  not  in  admiration  of  its  blurting  mid 
day  splendours,  but  to  seek  relief  in  the  more  inviting 
twilight  of  an  ordinary  intellect.  In  short,  our  heroine 
was  an  heiress,  a  belle,  a  beauty ;  and,  would  it  were 
not  so,  a  blue-stocking  —  or,  in  the  exalted  phrase 
ology  of  the  day,  an  azure  hose. 

The  morning  after  the  conversation  recorded  in  our 
first  chapter,  Highfield  arrived.  The  old  gentleman 
did  not  kick  him  out  of  doors  as  he  threatened  ;  and 
Lucia,  though  she  did  not  therefore  signalize  herself 
by  letting  him  in,  received  him  with  a  smile  and  a 
hand  of  gentle  welcome  —  one  as  bright  as  the  sun 
beam,  the  other  as  soft  as  a  ray  of  the  moon.  The 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  51 

old  gentleman  was  stiff — very  stiff;  Charles  was  his 
favourite  nephew;  he  had  brought  him  up,  and  in 
tended,  as  he  said,  to  make  a  man  of  him. 

"  Well,  uncle,"  said  Charles,  "  I  hope  I  did  not 
disappoint  you.  I  promise  you  I  studied  night  and 
day." 

"  Mischief,  I  suppose,"  said  the  other,  gruffly. 

"  A  little  sometimes,  uncle ;  but  I  minded  the  main 
chance.  I  hope  you  are  satisfied." 

"  No,  sir — I'm  not  satisfied,  sir  —  dam'me,  sir,  if  I 
will  be  satisfied,  and  darn' me  if  I  ever  forgive  you !  "  — 
and  the  good  gentleman  stumped  about  according  to 
custom. 

Charles  looked  at  Lucia,  as  if  to  inquire  the  mean 
ing  of  this  explosion  ;  and  Lucia  looked  most  mis 
chievously  mysterious,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Pray,  sir,"  said  Highfield,  who  on  some  occasions 
was  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  "  pray,  sir,  how  have  I 
merited  this  reception  from  my  benefactor  ? " 

"  I've  a  great  mind  to  turn  you  out  of  my  doors." 

"  I  can  go  without  turning,  sir."  And  he  took  up 
his  hat. 

"  Answer  me,  sir  —  are  you  not  a  great  block 
head  ?  " 

"  If  I  am,  uncle,  nature  made  me  so." 

"  I've  a  great  mind  to  send  you  back  to  college, 
and  make  you  go  all  over  your  studies  again." 

"What!  the  Greek  alphabet  —  the  Pons  Asinorum 
—  the  plus  and  the  minus  —  the  labour  of  all  labours, 
a  composition  upon  nothing  —  and  the  worry  of  all 
worries,  the  examination?  Spare  me,  uncle,  this 
time." 

"  You  deserve  it,  you  blockhead." 


52  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

"  My  excellent  friend  and  benefactor,"  said  Charles, 
approaching  and  taking  his  uncle's  hand,  "  if  I  have 
offended  you,  I  most  solemnly  declare  it  was  without 
intention.  If  I  have  done  any  thing  unworthy  of 
myself,  or  displeasing  to  you ;  or  if  I  have  omitted 
any  act  of  duty,  gratitude,  or  affection,  tell  me  of  it 
frankly,  and  frankly  will  I  offer  excuse  and  make 
atonement.  What  have  I  done,  or  left  undone  ?  " 

I  declare,  thought  Lucia,  that  puts  me  in  mind  of 
Mr.  Goshawk  —  how  eloquent! 

The  tears  came  into  the  old  gentleman's  eyes  at 
this  appeal  of  his  nephew. 

"  You've  missed  the  first  honour,"  exclaimed  he, 
with  a  burst  of  indignation,  mingled  with  affection ; 
"  O  Charles !  Charles !  " 

"  Indeed,  uncle,  I  have  not.  I  gained  it  honestly 
and  fairly,  against  one  of  the  finest  fellows  in  the 
world,  though  I  say  it." 

"  What !  you  did  gain  it  ?  " 

"  Ay,  uncle." 

"  And  you  spoke  the  valedictory  ?  " 

"  I  did,  sir.  The  newspapers,  I  perceive,  made  a 
mistake,  owing  to  a  similarity  between  my  name  and 
that  of  the  head  dunce  of  the  class.  I  should  have 
written  to  let  you  know,  but  I  wanted  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  telling  it  myself." 

"  My  dear  Charles  I ",  cried  the  old  gentleman,  "  give 
me  your  hand ;  I  ought  to  have  known  you  inherited 
the  first  honour  from  your  mother.  There  never  was 
a  Lee  that  did  not  carry  away  the  first  honour  every 
where.  But  these  blundering  newspapers  —  the  other 
day  they  put  my  name  to  an  advertisement  of  a 
three-story  house  with  folding  doors  and  marble  man- 


THE  AZURE  HOSE.  53 

tel-pieces.  Lucia,  come  here,  you  baggage,  and  wish 
me  joy." 

"  I  can't,  father ;    I'm  jealous." 

"  Pooh !  you  shall  love  him  as  well  as  I  do,  before 
you  are  as  old  as  I  am." 

Hum,  thought  Lucia,  that  is  more  than  you  know, 
father.  When  Lucia  retired,  she  could  not  help  think 
ing  of  this  prophecy  of  the  old  gentleman.  "  He  cer 
tainly  is  handsome;  but  then  what  is  beauty  in  a 
man?  It  is  intellect,  genius,  enthusiasm  —  mind, 
mind  alone,  —  bear  witness  earth  and  heaven !,  that 
constitutes  the  divinity  of  man.  Certainly  his  eyes 

are  as  bright  as and  his  person  tall,  straight,  and 

elegant.  But  then  what  are  these  to  the  lofty  aspi 
rations  of  Genius  ?  I  wonder  if  he  can  waltz.  He 
must  be  clever,  for  he  gained  the  first  honour.  But 
then  Mr.  Goshawk  says  that  none  but  dull  boys  make 
a  figure  at  college.  And  then  he  talks  just  like  a 
common  person.  I  wonder  if  he  can  write  poetry; 
for  I  am  determined  never  to  marry  a  man  that  is 
not  inspired.  He  certainly  is  much  handsomer  than 
Mr.  Goshawk;  but  then  Mr.  Goshawk  uses  such 
beautiful  language!  I  declare  I  sometimes  hardly 
know  what  he  is  saying.  My  cousin  certainly  is 
handsome,  but  his  coat  don't  fit  him  half  so  well  as 
Mr.  Goshawk's." 

How  much  longer  this  cogitation  might  have  con 
tinued  no  one  can  divine ;  for  the  young  lady  was  at 
this  crisis  called  away  to  accompany  her  relative, 
Mrs.  Coates,  one  of  the  smallest  of  small  ladies,  and 
for  that  reason  sometimes  called  by  her  mischievous 
particular  friends,  in  her  absence,  Mrs.  Petticoats. 
Mrs.  Coates  was  educated  in  England,  as  was  the 


54  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

usage  with  the  better  sort  of  colonists  before  the  Rev 
olution,  and  is  the  fashion  still  among  upstart  people, 
who  have  not  gotten  over  the  colonial  feeling.  She 
had  in  early  life  married  an  English  officer  connected 
with  the  skirts  of  one  or  two  titled  families,  with 
whose  names  the  good  lady  was  perfectly  familiar. 
Her  conversation,  when  not  literary,  or  liquorary  as 
she  termed  it,  was  all  retrospective,  and  she  talked 
wonderfully  of  Sir  Cloudesley  Shovel  and  Sir  Rich 
ard  Gammon,  together  with  divers  lords  and  ladies  of 
the  court-calendar.  Her  toryism  was  invincible,  and 
if  there  was  any  body  in  the  world  she  hated  past 
all  human  understanding,  it  was  "  that  Bonaparte," 
as  she  called  him.  Her  favourite  topics  were  the  de 
velopment —  which  she  was  pleased  to  call  devilope- 
ment — of  the  infant  mind;  the  progress  of  the  age; 
the  march  of  intellect ;  and  the  wonderful  properties 
of  the  steam-engine,  which  she  considered  altogether 
superior  to  any  man-machine  of  her  acquaintance, 
except  Mr.  Fitzgiles  Goshawk.  Though  in  the  main 
a  well-principled  woman,  there  was  a  cold  selfishness 
in  her  character,  and  a  minute  attention  to  her  own 
pleasure  and  accommodation,  to  the  neglect  of  other 
people,  that  effectually  prevented  her  ever  being  ad 
mired  or  beloved.  It  was  a  favourite  boast  with  her, 
that  no  nation  understood  the  meaning  of  the  word 
comfort  but  the  English;  to  which  her  cousin,  Mr. 
Lee,  would  sometimes  retort,  by  affirming  it  was 
no  wonder,  since  no  people  ever  thought  more  of 
their  own  comfort  and  less  of  that  of  others. 

Mrs.  Coates  sent  to  invite  Lucia  to  go  out  with 
her,  to  assist  in  the  selection  of  a  ribbon,  which  was 
always  a  matter  of  great  delicacy  and  circumspection 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  55 

with  Mrs.  Petticoats.  She  admired  Mr.  Goshawk 
beyond  all  other  human  beings,  because  he  wrote  so 
like  Lord  Byron,  and  spoke  like  a  whirlwind.  "  Ah, 
Lucy,"  would  she  say,  "  he  will  make  an  extinguished 
man,  will  that  Mr.  Goosehawk." 


CHAPTER  III. 


AN    AZURE    MORNING. 


AFTER  visiting  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  stores, 
Mrs.  Coates  at  length  selected  a  ribbon  of  sixteen 
colours,  and,  finding  the  morning  was  not  yet  alto 
gether  wasted,  proposed  a  visit  to  Miss  Appleby,  at 
whose  house  one  was  always  sure  of  hearing  all  the 
news  of  the  literary  world.  They  found  that  lady 
surrounded  by  Mr.  Goshawk  and  two  or  three  azures, 
all  talking  high  matters.  Mr.  Goshawk  was  not  only 
a  very  "extinguished"  but  a  very  extraordinary  man: 
he  was  always  either  trotting  up  and  down  the  streets, 
or  visiting  ladies  and  talking  at  corners.  He  never 
seemed  to  study,  nor  did  it  appear  how  he  got  his 
knowledge ;  but,  certain  it  is,  he  knew  almost  every 
thing.  He  could  tell  how  many  rings  Miss  Edge- 
worth  wore  on  the  forefinger  of  her  left  hand,  and 
how  many  panes  of  glass  there  were  in  the  great 
Gothic  window  of  Sir  Walter's  study.  He  knew 
the  name  of  the  author  of  Pelham  —  the  writer  of 
every  article  in  the  Edinburgh  and  Quarterly  —  and 
the  editor  of  the  London  Literary  Gazette  was  not  a 
more  infallible  judge  of  the  merit  of  books.  Indeed, 


56  THE    AZURE    HOSE. 

Mrs.  Coates  used  to  remark,  "  His  knowledge  seems 
absolutely  inchewative,  and  I  wonder  how  he  finds 
time  to  digest  it."  Besides  Mr.  Goshawk,  there  was 
Mr.  Puddingham,  a  solid  gentleman  who  had  so 
overcultivated  a  thin-soiled  intellect  that  he  prema 
turely  turned  it  into  a  pine-barren,  Mr.  Paddleford, 
Mr.  Prosser,  Mr.  Roth,  a  grumbling  sententiarian  critic, 
and  Miss  Overend,  secretary  to  a  charitable  fund  and 
member  of  an  executive  committee  of  Greek  ladies. 

I  wish  my  dearly  beloved  readers  could  have  been 
present  at  this  congeries  of  stars ;  for  it  is  impossible 
to  do  justice  to  the  nights  of  fancy,  the  vast,  incom 
prehensible  nothings,  the  arrogant  commonplaces,  and 
the  hard  words,  sported  by  our  azure  coterie.  Here 
was  a  dwarfish  thought  dressed  in  gigantic  words, 
and  there  a  little  toad  of  an  idea  swelled  to  the  size 
of  an  ox,  and  ready  to  burst  with  its  own  importance ; 
here  a  deplorable  mixture  of  false  metaphor  and  true 
nonsense,  and  there  a  little  embryo  of  meaning,  gasp 
ing  for  life  and  groaning  under  a  heap  of  rubbish. 
No  little  sparks  of  innocent,  unstudied  vivacity ;  no 
easy  chit-chat,  such  as  diverts  and  rests  the  mind; 
no  rambling  interchange  of  sentiment ;  no  gentle  un 
dertones,  or  musical,  good-humoured  responses.  All 
w^ere  talking  for  effect,  all  striving  for  the  palm  of 
eloquent  declamation,  and  bending  their  little  stub 
born  bows,  as  if,  like  Sagittarius,  they  were  going  to 
bring  down  a  constellation  at  the  first  shot. 

Though  I  feel  the  impossibility  of  doing  justice  to 
this  superfine  palaver,  yet  will  I  attempt  a  sketch,  a 
shadow,  a  mere  outline,  of  some  portion,  if  it  be  only 
for  the  benefit  of  the  unlettered  spinsters  who  as  yet, 
perchance,  may  not  know  what  is  meant  by  "  power- 


THE    AZURE    HOSE.  57 

ful  talking."  I  confess  the  task  is  appalling,  as  it  is 
unpleasant ;  for  I  do  honestly  and  openly  profess  my 
self  to  have  a  holy  horror  of  loud,  contentious  discus 
sions,  affected  enthusiasm,  and  ostentatious  display 
either  of  wealth  or  talents.  It  is  offensive  in  man : 
but  in  woman,  dear  woman,  whose  office  is  to  soothe, 
not  irritate ;  whose  voice  should  be  soft  as  an  echo  of 
the  mountain  vales ;  whose  wit  should  be  accidental ; 
whose  enthusiasm,  silent  expression ;  and  whose  em 
pire  resides  in  her  graces,  her  smiles,  her  tears,  her 
gentleness,  and  her  virtues,  —  it  makes  me  mad.  It 
is  laying  down  the  cestus  of  Venus,  to  brandish  the 
club  of  Hercules. 

"  I  insist  upon  it,  Pelham  is  an  immoral  book," 
said  Miss  Appleby.  "  No  man  that  cherishes  the 
sacred  principle,  the  vestal  fire  on  which  depended  the 
existence  of  the  Roman  state,  and  all  the  social  affini 
ties  that  bind  man  and  man  together,  could  speak  as 
the  author  does,  of  his  mother." 

"  But  my  dear  Miss  Appleby,"  said  Mr.  Goshawk, 
"  the  author  is  not  accountable  for  every  thing  in  his 
book,  any  more  than  a  father  can  be  made  to  answer 
for  the  crimes  of  his  children.  The  argument  I  would 
superinduce  upon  this  predication  is  this," 

"  But  sir-r-r,"  said  the  Johnsonian  Puddingham, 
cutting  in  —  "sir,  the  author  of  a  bad  book  is  guilty 
of  a  crime  against  society.  Society,  sir,  is  a  congeries 
of  certain  people,  whose  various  inflections,  deflec 
tions,  and"  — 

"My  dear  Puddingham,"  roared  Mr.  Roth,  "the 
book  is  immoral  in  the  perception,  conception,  execu 
tion,  and  catastrophe ;  sir  "  — 

"  Sir  Cloudesley  Shovel,"  —  said  Mrs.  Coates ;  but 


58  THE   AZURE    HOSE. 

what  more  she  would  have  said  is  in  the  womb  of  fate. 
Mr.  Goshawk  again  took  flight,  and  overshot  her. 

"  Sir  Francis  Bacon  ",  said  he  — 

"  Sir  Richard  Gammon  ",  said  Mrs.  Coates  — 

"  Dr.  Johnson  affirms  "  — 

"  The  Edinburgh  Review  says  "  — 

"  The  London  Quarterly  lays  it  down  "  — 

"  The  London  Literary  Gazette ",  screamed  Lu 
cia — 

"  Blackwood's  Bombazine  ",  cried  Mrs.  Coates,  yet 
louder.  Here  Highfield  happened  to  be  passing  by, 
and  Lucia  called  him  in  by  tapping  at  the  window ; 
for  she  was  anxious  to  have  a  little  display  before 
him.  Highfield  had  known  them  all,  having  visited 
with  Lucia,  during  his  vacations.  He  held  them,  how 
ever,  in  so  little  respect,  that  he  did  not  mind  quizzing 
them  now  and  then.  His  entrance  put  an  end  to  the 
literary  discussion  about  Pelham,  and  the  torrent  took 
another  course. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Goldsmith?"  asked  Miss 
Appleby,  after  the  compliments. 

"  Goldsmid  ?  ",  said  he ;  "  why,  I  think  he  was  a 
great  fool  to  shoot  himself."  * 

"  Shoot  himself  !  "  screamed  Mrs.  Coates ;  "  what,  is 
he  dead  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam  —  his  affairs  fell  into  confusion,  and 
he  shot  himself;  I  thought  you  had  seen  it  in  the  pa 
pers,  by  your  asking  my  opinion." 

It  is  my  opinion  Highfield  did  not  think  any  such 
thing ;  but  of  that  no  more. 

"  Lord ! "  said  Miss  Appleby,  "  I  don't  mean  Gold 
smid,  the  broker,  but  Goldsmith,  the  poet  and  novelist; 
what  is  your  opinion  of  him  ?  " 

*  An  affair  in  England. 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  59 

"  Why,  really,  the  question  comes  upon  me  by  sur 
prise  ;  but  I  think  him,  upon  the  whole,  one  of  the 
most  agreeable,  tender,  and  sprightly  writers  in  the 
language." 

"He  wants  power,  sir,"  said  Puddingham;  "there 
is  not  a  powerful  passage  in  all  his  writings." 

"He  wants  force,  sir,"  thundered  Mr.  Goshawk:  — 
"there  is  nothing  forcible  in  his  works;  no  effort;  no 
struggle  ;  no  swelling  of  the  tempest ;  no  pelting  of 
the  pitiless  storm  against  the  indurated  feelings  of  the 
heart ;  no  fighting  with  the  angry  elements  of  those 
deep-buried  passions,  which  waken  at  the  magic  touch 
of  the  Byrons,  and  the  Great  Unknowns,  of  this  pre 
cocious  age.  For  my  part,  I  would  not  give  a  pinch 
of  snuff  for  writings  that  did  not  awaken  the  passions. 
Lord  Byron  is  all  passion." 

"  Lord  Byron  was  a  distant  connexion  of  a  relative 
of  my  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Coates. 

"  Oh,  all  passion,"  cried  Miss  Appleby. 

"  All  passion,"  cried  Mrs.  Overend. 

"  All  passion,"  cried    Paddleford. 

And,  "  All  passion,"  echoed  Lucia,  Mr.  Prosser,  and 
the  rest  of  the  party. 

"Well,  but,"  said  Highfield,  "I  don't  see  why  a 
writer  should  be  always  in  a  passion,  any  more  than 
another  man.  I,  for  my  part,  should  not  like  to  be 
always  in  company  with  a  fellow  who  was  for  ever 
cursing  his  stars,  beating  his  breast,  and  talking  of 
shooting  himself;  nor  do  I  much  relish  books  that 
address  themselves  to  nothing  but  our  most  turbulent 
feelings.  It  is  the  best  and  purest  office  of  works  of 
imagination,  to  soothe  and  mitigate  those  malignant 
passions  which  the  collisions  of  the  world  blow  into  a 


60  THE    AZURE   HOSE. 

flame;  and,"  added  he  with  a  srnile,  "it  is  the  busi 
ness  of  a  young  man,  like  me,  to  listen  rather  than 
preach.  I  beg  pardon  for  my  long  speech." 

Goshawk  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  looked  at 
Lucia,  as  if  to  say,  her  cousin  Charles  was  an  every 
day  sort  of  person.  Lucia  thought  his  sentiments  tol 
erable  enough;  but  what  superior  man  ever  talked 
such  plain  English?  Goshawk  was  determined  to 
put  down  this  new  pretender  at  once. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  pompously,  "  do  you  mean  to  deny 
that  passion  is  the  soul  of  eloquence ;  the  marrow  of 
poetry;  the  rainbow  which  connects  the  overarching 
skies  of  fancy,  feeling,  and  imagination ;  the  star  that 
flashes  conviction ;  sprinkles  the  dews  of  heaven  on 
the  head  of  the  thirsty  traveller;  refines,  delights, 
invigorates,  and  entrances ;  gives  to  the  scimitar  of 
the  poet  its  brightness ;  to  the  dagger  of  the  orator 
its  point ;  to  the  ardour  of  love  its  purple  blossoms ; 
and  to  the  fire  of  revenge  its  blushing  fruits  ?  " 

"  Beautiful !  beautiful ! "  sighed  Lucia ;  "  what  a 
flow  of  language!  What  a  torrent  of  redundant 
ideas !  What  a  congeries  of  metaphors ! "  —  and  she 
sighed  again.  The  fact  is,  that  Goshawk  rolled  out 
these  incomprehensible  nothings  with  such  an  impos 
ing  enthusiasm,  such  a  rapidity  of  utterance,  that  it 
is  hardly  a  reflection  on  Lucia's  good  sense  that  she 
admired  them.  It  is  only  on  paper  that  nonsense 
never  escapes  detection. 

"  Goshawk,"  said  Highfield,  "  I  hate  argument.  It 
is  as  bad  as  fighting  before  ladies." 

"  Hate  argument !  "  cried  they  all  together,  and  lit 
tle  Lucia  among  the  loudest  —  "hate  argument!" 

"  I  confess  it ;  I'd  rather  talk  nonsense  by  the 
month,  than  argue  by  the  hour." 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  61 

"  Hate  argument !  "  cried  Mr.  Goshawk ;  "  why,  it 
is  the  hone  on  which  the  imagination  is  brought  to  its 
brightest  edge." 

"  What  a  beautiful  figure,"  said  Lucia ;  "  he  talks 
like  a  rainbow." 

"Hate  argument!"  cried  the  illustrious  Pudding- 
ham  ;  —  "  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  the  great  Johnson  con 
sidered  argument  as  a  cudgel,  with  which  every  man 
should  be  furnished,  to  defend  himself  and  knock 
down  his  adversaries." 

"  What  a  charming  metaphor ! "  said  Lucia,  with 
enthusiasm. 

"  Metaphor !  "  said  Mrs.  Coates,  —  "  can  you  see  it 
in  the  daytime  ?  Do  show  me  where  it  is,  I  should 
like  to  see  its  tail  in  the  daytime." 

"  My  dear  aunt,"  said  Lucia,  excessively  mortified, 
"  my  dear  aunt,  you  mean  the  meteor." 

"  Child,"  said  the  other,  "  don't  irrigate  me.  I 
know  the  difference  between  a  metaphor  and  a  me 
teor,  as  well  as  you  do.  The  Liquorary  Gazette  could 
tell  me  that." 

"  Pray,  sir,"  said  Goshawk  to  Highfield,  pompously, 
"  what  do  they  learn  at  college  ?  " 

"  Why,  a  little  logic,  and"  — 

"  And  what  is  logic  but  argument?  "  said  the  other. 

"  My  good  sir,  no  two  things  can  be  more  distinct. 
I  have  heard  thousands  of  arguments  in  which 
there  was  no  more  logic  than  in  the  couplet  of  the 
primer  — 

'  Xerxes  the  great  did  die, 
And  so  must  you  and  I.'  " 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  deny  the  conclusion  ?  "  said 
the  other,  with  his  usual  enthusiasm. 


62  THE    AZURE    HOSE. 

"  Not  I,"  said  Highfield,  carelessly ;  "  I  have  not 
the  least  doubt  of  it.  I  only  deny  that  you  and  I 
shall  die  because  Xerxes  the  great  '  did  die.' " 

To  an  enthusiastic  declamatory  person  by  profes 
sion,  there  is  nothing  so  difficult  to  parry,  as  a  little, 
plain,  direct,  common-sense,  conveyed  in  simple  and 
brief  words.  Mr.  Goshawk  was  actually  puzzled ;  so 
he  contented  himself  with  asking,  rather  contemp 
tuously, 

"  And  is  this  all  they  teach  at  college  ?  " 

"  By  no  means ;  I  learnt  exactly  how  many  nuts 
and  apples  Tityrus  had  for  his  supper." 

Mr.  Goshawk,  it  is  believed,  never  heard  of  but 
four  poets  —  the  Great  Unknown,  Lord  Byron,  Mr. 
Moore,  and  himself.  He  neither  understood  who 
Tityrus  was,  nor  comprehended  the  sly  rebuke  of  the 
reply.  The  indispensable  armour  of  affectation  is  an 
absolute  insensibility  to  ridicule. 

"  Oh !  what  a  beautiful  alliteration,"  exclaimed 
Lucia,  who  was  dipping  into  Mr.  Thomas  Moore. 

"  '  A  heart  that  was  humble  might  hope  for  it  here.''  " 

"  Charming  !  charming !  "  added  she,  repeating  it  to 
Highfield,  who  insisted  that  he  could  make  a  finer 
alliteration,  extempore. 

"  If  you  do,  I'll  net  you  a  silk  purse,"  said  Lucia. 

"Done,"  said  Highfield:- 

"May  mild  meridian  moonlight  mantle  me." 

"  Only  make  a  rhyme  to  it,  and  I  will  add  a  watch 
chain,"  said  the  young  lady. 

"  Lovely,  lively,  lisping,  laughing  Lucia  Lightfoot  Lee." 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  Lucia,  blushing  a  little. 

"  You  asked  for  rhyme,  not  reason.     I  insist  upon 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  63 

it,  I've   won."     The    company   was    called   upon   to 
decide. 

"  There's  no  sublimity,"  said  Goshawk. 

"  No  powerful  pathos,"  said  Miss  Overend. 

"  No  exquisite  tenderness,"  said  Paddleford. 

"  No  romantic  feeling,"  said  Miss  Appleby. 

"  No  meaning,"  said  Mr.  Roth,  pompously. 

"  No  connexion  of  sense,"  said  Puddingham. 

"  It  finds  no  He  Cow  *  in  my  feelings,"  said  Mrs. 
Coates. 

Highfield  was  proceeding  to  prove  that  his  two 
lines  contained  all  the  essentials  of  first-rate  poetry, 
when,  luckily  for  his  fame,  a  young  lady  came  in 
with  a  new  hat,  of  the  latest  Paris  fashion.  The 
force  of  nature  overcame  the  force  of  affectation  ;  and 
the  ladies  all  flocked  round  the  new  bonnet,  leaving 
the  reputation  of  our  hero,  as  a  bard,  to  its  fate. 

After  this  the  conversation  turned  on  more  sublu 
nary  things. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Miss  Traddle,  the  young 
lady  in  the  fashionable  bonnet,  "  Do  you  know  that 
the  Briars  have  hired  a  splendid  hotel,  in  Paris  ?  " 

"What!"  said  little  Mrs.  Coates,  "do  they  keep 
tavern  ?  Well,  for  my  part,  I  never  thought  them  as 
rich  as  some  people  did.  I'm  sorry  for  poor,  dear 
Mrs.  Briar." 

"  They  have  been  presented  at  court ! "  said  Miss 
Traddle.  "  What,  tavern-keepers  presented  at  court ! 
O,  but  its  only  a  French  court,"  quoth  Mrs.  Coates, 
quite  satisfied. 

The  information,  however,  stirred  up,   among  the 

*  The  intelligent  reader  need  hardly  be  told  that  he  cow  is  the  fashion 
able  pronunciation  of  echo,  in  England.  —  [Author.] 


64  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

azures,  a  violent  degree  of  envy,  at  the  good  fortune 
of  the  happy  Briars. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Miss  Appleby,  who  had  been 
abroad,  but  was  never  presented  —  "for  my  part,  I 
always  declined  going  to  court.  Every  body  told  me 
it  was  a  stupid  business;"  and  she  sighed  at  the 
good  fortune  of  the  Briars. 

"  What  a  delightful  thing  it  must  be  to  get  into  the 
first  society,  abroad,"  said  Miss  Traddle. 

«  Why  so  ?  "  asked  Highfield. 

"  Why,  why  because  it  is  of  such  high  rank  —  so 
refined  —  so  literary  —  so  genteel —  so  much  superior 
to  the  society  here." 

"  Who  told  you  so,  Miss  Traddle  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Vincent;  you  know  she  was  at  court." 

"  What,  hin  Hingland  ! "  said  Mrs.  Coates,  in  as 
tonishment. 

"Yes,  indeed;  and  at  the  sheep-shearing  at  Hoik- 
ham  ;  and  the  lord  mayor's  ball ;  and  Almacks." 

"What,  Almacks!"  cried  Miss  Appleby,  and  al 
most  fainted. 

"  At  Almanack's !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Coates  ;  "  I  dont 
believe  a  word  of  it.  Why  I  could  never  get 
there  myself,  though  Sir  Cloudesley  Shovel  and  Sir 
Richard  Gammon  both  made  interest  for  me.  Mrs. 
Vincent,  indeed  !,  the  daughter  of  a  shaver,  and  wife 
of  a I  don't  believe  a  word  on't." 

Poor  Mrs.  Vincent!  how  they  all  hated  her  for 
being  at  Almacks. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  said  Highfield. 

"  Because,"  said  Mrs.  Coates,  "  they  wouldn't  admit 
the  goddess  Dinah,  if  she  was  to  rise  from  the  dead. 
Were  you  ever  abroad,  Mr.  Highfield  ?  " 

u  No,  but  I  intend  to  go  one  of  these  days.     I  wish 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  65 

to  undeceive  myself,  and  get  rid  of  that  monstrous 
bugbear,  the  superiority  of  every  thing  foreign,  which 
is  inculcated  by  books  and  by  every  thing  we  see  and 
hear,  from  our  youth  upwards." 

"  What,"  said  they  all,  with  one  voice,  "  you  don't 
believe  in  the  superiority  of  foreign  literature  ?  " 

u  Not  of  the  present  day." 

"  Nor  foreign  manners  ?  " 

"  No,  nor  morals  either." 

"  Nor  of  French  cookery  ?  "  quoth  Puddingham. 

"  Nor  of  English  poetry  ?  "  quoth  Goshawk. 

"  Nor  of  Italian  skies  ?  "  quoth  Miss  Overend,  en 
thusiastically. 

"  Nor  of  London  porter  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Coates. 

"  No,  no,  no,  no,"  replied  Highfield,  good  humour- 
edly,  yet  earnestly ;  —  "as  to  your  Italian  skies,  a 
friend  of  mine  assured  me  he  was  three  months  in 
Italy,  and  never  saw  a  clear  sky.  The  truth  is,  we 
take  our  ideas  of  Italian  skies  from  English  poets, 
who,  not  having  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  sun 
at  home,  above  once  or  twice  a  year,  vault  into  rap 
tures  with  the  delight  of  sunshine  on  the  Continent. 
Those  of  our  countrymen  who  judge  for  themselves 
have  assured  me  that,  in  no  part  of  Europe  have  they 
ever  seen  such  beautiful  blue  skies,  such  starry  firma 
ments,  and  such  a  pure  transparent  air,  as  our  sum 
mers  and  autumns  present  almost  every  day  and 
every  night.  And  as  to  their  Venus  de  Medici,  I 
need  not  go  out  of  the  room  to  satisfy  myself  that 
there  is  no  necessity  for  a  voyage  to  Europe  to  meet 
goddesses  that  shame  all  the  beauties  of  antiquity ; " 
and  he  bowed  all  round,  to  the  ladies,  who  each  took 
the  compliment  to  herself,  and  pardoned  his  numer- 

5 


66  THE   AZURE    HOSE. 

ous  heresies,  on  the  score  of  his  orthodoxy  in  one  par 
ticular. 

"  I  am  exactly  the  height  of  the  Venus  de  Medi 
cine,"  said  little  Mrs.  Coates ;  and  forgot  the  slander 
on  the  English  skies.  "  You  mean  to  go  to  Europe, 
and  visit  Almanack's,  of  course." 

"  For  what,  madam  ?  To  see  a  company  of  well- 
dressed  men  and  women,  who  look  exactly  like  our 
selves —  only  the  ladies  are  not  half  so  handsome, 
nor  do  they  dance  half  so  well?  No,  if  I  go  abroad 
at  all,  it  will  be  to  learn  properly  to  estimate  the  hap 
piness  of  my  own  country. 

The  ladies,  though  they  could  not  get  over  the  silly 
and  vulgar  notion  of  the  superiority  of  everything 
abroad,  all  thought  Highfield  a  very  polite,  agreeable 
young  fellow ;  and  Lucia  found  herself  on  the  very 
threshold  of  relishing  a  little  common-sense.  The 
party  soon  after  separated,  having  spent  a  most  im 
proving  morning. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SHOWING    THE    GREAT   ADVANTAGES    ARISING   FROM   HAVING   A   DISCREET 
FRIEND. 

THOUGH  years  bring  with  them  wisdom,  yet  there  is 
one  lesson  the  aged  seldom  learn,  namely,  the  man 
agement  of  youthful  feelings.  Age  is  all  head,  youth 
all  heart;  age  reasons,  youth  feels;  age  acts  under 
the  influence  of  disappointment,  youth  under  the 
dominion  of  hope.  What  wonder,  then,  that  they  so 
seldom  agree  ?  Mr.  Lee  had,  for  more  than  half  a 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  67 

score  of  years,  been  pondering  on  the  beautiful  con- 
gruity  of  a  match  between  his  daughter  and  his 
nephew.  He  had  enough  for  both ;  they  were  of  a 
corresponding  age;  both  handsome,  amiable,  and  in 
telligent;  and  they  had  been  brought  up  together, 
until  within  the  last  few  years  that  Highfield  remained 
at  college.  It  was  most  reasonable,  most  likely,  and 
most  natural,  that  they  should  fall  in  love,  marry, 
and  be  happy.  Therefore  he  had  long  since  deter 
mined  in  his  own  mind,  that  they  should  fall  in  love, 
marry,  and  be  happy.  Alas  !  poor  gentleman  —  even 
experience  had  failed  in  teaching  him,  that  the  most 
likely  things  in  the  world  are  the  least  likely  to  come 
to  pass.  He  communicated  his  plans  to  his  friend, 
Mr.  Fairweather:  — 

"  I  intend  Highfield  shall  live  with  us,"  said  he, 
"  and  thus  he  will  have  every  opportunity  to  make 
himself  agreeable." 

"  You  had  better  forbid  him  the  house,"  said  the 
other. 

"  Forbid  him  the I  shall  do  no  such  thing," 

said  Mr.  Lee,  somewhat  nettled ;  "  but  you  are  not 
serious  ?  " 

"  Faith  am  I." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

Mr.  Fairweather  was  of  the  Socratic  school,  with 
out  knowing  much  of  Socrates ;  for  he  held  the 
ancients  in  little  respect. 

"  Have  you  not  observed,  my  good  friend,"  said  he, 
"  that  matrimony  does  not  in  general  answer  the  great 
end  of  human  happiness  ?  " 

"  Now  I  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Fairweather,  I  know 
what  you  are  after ;  you  want  to  catch  me  in  your 


68  THE  AZURE  HOSE. 

confounded,  crooked  interrogations ;  but  it  wont  do,  I 
tell  you  it  wont  do,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Lee,  chafing. 

"  No,  no,  upon  honour,  I  have  no  such  intention ; 
only  answer  me  frankly.  Have  you  not  made  the 
observation  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  I  have,"  answered  Mr.  Lee,  with  some 
hesitation,  and  feeling  exactly  like  a  fly  in  the  antici 
pation  of  being  caught  in  a  cobweb. 

"  Very  well :  don't  you  think  this  arises  from  their 
seeing  too  much  of  each  other  —  becoming  too  inti 
mate —  and  thus  losing  the  guard  which  the  little, 
salutary  restraints  of  the  constitution  of  society  inter 
pose  before  marriage,  giving  way,  in  consequence,  to 
a  display  of  temper  and  habits  that  weakens,  if  not 
destroys,  affection  ?  " 

"  Certainly  —  certainly  I  do,"  quoth  the  other. 

"Very  well:  do  not  two  young  people,  living 
together  in  the  same  house,  associating  on  terms  of 
the  most  perfect  intimacy,  also  see  a  great  deal  of  each 
other  calculated  to  unveil  the  mysteries  in  which  love 
delights  to  shroud  his  glorious  deceptions?  The 
young  lady  comes  down  to  breakfast,  with  her  hair  in 
papers  —  an  old,  faded,  black-silk  or  calico  frock  —  a 
shoe  out  at  the  sides,  and  a  hole  in  her  stocking  — 
she  scolds  the  servant,  and  gets  into  a  passion,  (for  it 
is  impossible  to  be  always  a  hypocrite),  —  and  ten  to 
one  they  become  so  easy  together,  that  they  will  not 
scruple  at  last  to  contradict,  quarrel  with,  and  at 
length  care  no  more  for,  each  other,  than  people  gen 
erally  do  who  have  had  a  free  opportunity  of  seeing 
all  their  faults  at  full  length." 

"  All  this  is  very  true;  but  then  —  but  go  on,  sir." 

"  Very  well ;  the  case  stands  thus :  —  Marriages  are 


THE  AZURE  HOSE.  69 

seldom  very  happy.  Why  ?  Because  the  parties  are 
too  much  together.  Why  ?  Because  they  live  in  the 
same  house,  and  see  all  each  other's  faults.  Ergo,  if 
you  want  two  young  persons  to  become  attached,  and 
marry,  you  should  take  a  course  directly  opposite  to 
that  of  matrimony.  Instead  of  shutting  your  daugh 
ter  and  nephew  up  together,  your  best  way  will  be,  as 
I  said  before,  to  turn  him  out  of  doors." 

"There!  there!  I  knew  you'd  have  me  at  last;  I 
felt  you  were  all  the  time  drawing  your  infernal  snares 
around  me.  Sir,  you're  enough  to  provoke  a  saint, 
with  your  Socratics." 

"  I  never  meddle  with  Socrates,  or  Socratics,  my 
good  friend ;  but  Socrates,  notwithstanding  his  igno 
rance  of  steamboats,  spinning-jennies,  railroads,  and 
chemistry,  is,  upon  the  whole,  good  authority  in  cases 
of  the  kind  we  are  discussing.  He  certainly  saw  too 
much  of  his  lady." 

"  Then  you  seriously  advise  me  to  turn  my  nephew 
'out  of  doors,  to  bring  about  a  union  ?  Why,  I  did 
threaten  it  the  other  day,  and  Lucia  told  me  she 
would  certainly  let  him  in  again." 

"  Then  my  dear  friend,  here  you  have  the  whole 
secret  of  the  matter.  Only  persuade  the  young  lady 
that  you  don't  approve  of  the  young  gentleman  for  a 
son-in-law,  and  the  business  is  done." 

"  Confound  it,  be  serious,  can't  you  ?  I  want  your 
advice  as  a  friend." 

"  Well,  I  have  given  it,  and  you  don't  like  it.  I 
think  it  best  then  that  you  try  the  other  extreme,  and 
shut  them  up  together  all  day  in  the  same  room. 
Don't  you  think,  my  good  friend,  that  much  of  the 
misery  of  married  life  arises  from  young  people  not 


70  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

being  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  habits  and  tem 
pers  of  each  other  beforehand  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  certainly." 

"  Very  well :  and  don't  you  think  the  best  way  of 
obviating  that  evil  is  to  let  them  see  as  much  of  one 
another  as  possible  ?  " 

Here  Mr.  Lee  made  his  friend  a  most  profound  and 
reverential  bow.  "  I  remember,"  said  he,  "  having 
read,  in  Monsieur  Rabelais,  that  the  great  Panurge, 
being  inclined  to  marry,  consulted  divers  philosophers 
without  success,  when  the  thought  came  across  him 
to  ask  the  opinion  of  a  fool,  who  soon  satisfied  his 
doubts  on  the  subject."  Whereupon  he  seized  his 
hat  and  stumped  out  of  the  room,  followed  by 
his  friend.  But  they  did  not  separate;  they  stuck 
together  like  a  pair  of  wool-cards  with  the  teeth  stand 
ing  opposite  ways,  and  finished  the  morning,  more 
attached  to  each  other  than  ever. 


CHAPTER   V. 

PURE    AZURE. 

MR.  LEE,  after  troubling  himself  exceedingly  in 
concocting  and  maturing  a  plan  to  bring  about  a 
speedy  union  between  his  daughter  and  nephew,  at 
length  in  despair  hit  upon  the  best  in  the  world,  which 
was,  to  let  matters  take  their  own  course,  and  leave 
the  event  to  Providence.  Had  he  persevered  in  this,  it 
had  been  all  the  better;  but  I  profess  to  have  heard  a 
vast  many  people  talk  of  trusting  to  Providence,  who 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  71 

still  would  be  meddling  and  putting  in  their  oar,  and 
spoiling  every  thing.  However,  it  is  necessary  to  the 
happiness  of  mankind,  that  they  should  fancy  them 
selves  the  spiders  that  weave  the  web,  instead  of  the 
flies  that  are  caught  in  it. 

In  the  meantime,  Lucia  and  Highfield  were  much 
together.  Lucia  liked  him  extremely ;  she  liked  his 
good-humour,  his  vivacity,  his  spirit,  and  his  generous 
forgetfulness  of  himself;  she  even  thought  him  rather 
handsome,  and  quite  a  sensible  young  man.  But  her 
ideas  of  men  had  been  formed  from  the  declamations 
of  the  azure  club,  with  which  she  had  been  intimately 
associated  for  the  last  few  years.  It  was  here  that 
she  learned  to  consider  words  of  much  more  conse 
quence  than  actions,  talents  than  temper,  enthusiasm 
than  common-sense,  and  an  utter  incapacity  for  use 
fulness  as  the  best  test  of  genius.  She  was  often 
struck  with  the  manly  sense  and  unpretending  beauty 
of  Highfield's  sentiments ;  but  then  they  were  ex 
pressed  with  such  a  nakedness,  such  a  poverty  of 
words,  such  a  natural  simplicity,  that  all  the  azures 
pronounced  him  a  very  common-place  sort  of  a  per 
son,  that  would  never  set  the  world  crying  about 
nothing,  or  be  himself  miserable  without  cause. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Goshawk,  "  I  like  sublimity, 
obscurity,  grandeur,  mistiness  —  I  hate  a  speech,  or  a 
passage,  that  I  can  comprehend  at  the  first  glance. 
Give  me,  to  grope  in  the  whirlwind ;  mount  into  the 
depths  of  the  multitudinous  ocean  ;  dive  into  the  evan 
escent  fleecy  clouds,  that  gallop  on  the  midnight  sun 
beams  which  sparkle  in  yon  star-spangled  attic  story ; 
and  grapple  with  the  chaos  of  the  mind."  And  he 
sunk  on  the  sofa,  overpowered  with  his  emotions. 


72  THE   AZURE    HOSE. 

"  And  I,"  exclaimed  Miss  Appleby,  holding  a  srnell- 
ing-bottle  to  his  inspired  nose,  "  I  delight  to  fling  —  " 
here  she  flourished  a  pinch  of  snuff  she  held  between 
her  thumb  and  finger  right  into  the  expanded  nostrils 
of  the  great  Puddingham,  who  began  to  sneeze  like 
ten  tom-cats  —  "I  delight  to  toss  back  the  curtains 
of  night  and  darkness  —  to  climb  those  unfathomable 
abysses  where  lurk  the  treasures  of  inspired  thought, 
glittering  like  the  eternal  snows  of  the  inaccessible 
Andes.  I  love  to  rise  on  the  wings  of  the  moon 
beam —  sink  under  the  weight  of  the  zephyr  —  and 
lose  myself  in  the  impenetrable  brightness  of  trans 
cendent  genius,  giving  to  the  winds  their  whistle,  the 
waves  their  roar,  the  stars  their  brightness,  and  the  sun 
its  fires." 

"  And  I,"  cried  little  Mrs.  Coates,  "  as  Sir  Richard 
Gammon  used  to  say,  prefer  those  soul-infusing  alli 
gators,  that  stir  the  mountain  spirit  up  to  the  drome 
dary  of  fever  heat  —  " 

"  The  dromedary  of  fever  heat !  "  said  Roth,  — 
"  what  sort  of  a  dromedary  is  that  ?  " 

Lucia  whispered  Mrs.  Coates,  who  replied  in  some 
agitation, 

"  I  mean,  allegory,  and  thermometer.  Ho\v  could 
I  make  such  a  mistake  ?  But  I  was  carried  away  by 
the  intensity  of  my  feelings.  I  like  —  " 

Each  one  of  the  party  was  now  so  anxious  to  let 
likings  be  known,  that  there  was  no  one  but  Highfield 
to  listen.  Even  Lucia  mingled  her  tuneful  nonsense 
with  the  incomprehensible  jargon.  There  was  not 
one  of  these  good  people  that  would  not  have  made 
a  decent  figure  in  life,  in  their  proper  sphere,  (as 
indeed  all  persons  do),  had  they  only  been  content 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  73 

to  keep  within  it,  and  talk  common-sense  on  ordinary 
occasions,  refraining  from  the  affectation  of  enthusi 
asm  when  there  was  nothing  to  excite  it.  A  pause 
at  length  ensuing,  Miss  Appleby  turned  suddenly  to 
Highfield,  and  asked  him, 

"  O,  Mr.  Highfield,  I  hope  you  admire  those  beauti 
ful  historical  romances,  and  romantic  histories,  that 
come  out  every  day  nowadays  ?  What  a  charming 
thing  it  is  to  read  novels  and  study  history  at  the 
same  time ! " 

"  Why,  in  truth,  madam,"  said  Highfield,  "  I  don't 
pretend  to  criticism,  and  hardly  ever  read  reviews, 
when  I  can  find  any  thing  else  to  read." 

"  Not  read  reviews !  " 

"  Not  read  the  Edinburgh ! ",  cried  Mr.  Roth,  who 
never  uttered  an  opinion  that  he  did  not  get  from 
that  renowned  Scottish  oracle. 

"  Not  read  the  Quarterly !  ",  exclaimed  Pudding- 
ham,  who  was  a  believer  in  the  infallibility  of  the 
English  oracle. 

"  Nor  the  Liquorary  Gazette ! ",  quoth  little  Mrs. 
Coates. 

"  Well  then,  let  us  hear  your  opinion,  sir,"  at  length 
said  Puddingham,  with  a  supercilious  air,  implying 
that  it  was  not  worth  hearing. 

"  Such  as  it  is,  you  are  welcome  to  it.  I  confess 
I  do  not  agree  with  those  who  believe  that  a  knowl 
edge  of  history  may  be  obtained  by  studying  romances. 
The  very  name  of  romance  presupposes  fiction ;  and 
how  is  the  reader,  unless  already  critically  versed  in 
history,  to  distinguish  between  what  is  fact  and  what 
is  fiction?  The  probability  is,  that  he  will  jumble 
them  together,  and  thus  lose  all  perception  of  what  is 


74  THE    AZURE   HOSE. 

history,  and  what  romance.  He  may  come,  in  time, 
to  mistake  one  for  the  other,  and  confound  a  Waverley 
novel  with  Hume,  or  the  Tales  of  my  Landlord  with 
Plutarch's  Lives." 

"  Ah  !  that  Plutarch's  Lives  is  a  delightful  romance," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Coates. 

"  Romance  !  "  said  Highfield ;  "  my  dear  madam, 
I  am  afraid  you  are  already  in  the  state  of  doubt  I 
hinted  at.  Plutarch's  Lives  compose  one  of  the  best 
authenticated  memorials  of  history." 

"  Well,"  cried  Mrs.  Coates,  "  did  ever  any  body 
hear  of  such  an  imposition !  Every  thing  is  so  per 
fectly  natural,  I  took  it  for  a  historical  romance.  I  am 
resolved  never  to  read  another  word  of  it." 

"  Many  besides  yourself,  madam,"  said  Highfield, 
smiling,  "  have  lost  their  relish  for  truth,  by  a  habit  of 
reading  little  else  than  the  daily  succession  of  half- 
truth  half-fable  productions,  perpetually  issuing  from 
the  press.  I  think  I  could  give  a  receipt,  which  would 
enable  any  person  of  ordinary  intellect  to  concoct  one 
of  these  at  least  twice  a  year,  without  any  extraordi 
nary  exertion." 

"  Oh,  let  us  hear  it  by  all  means,"  said  Pudding- 
ham,  disdainfully. 

"  Come  then,"  said  the  other.  "  Take  a  smattering 
of  history;  a  little  knowledge  of  old  costumes  and 
phraseology ;  a  little  superstition,  consisting  of  a  be 
lief  in  clouds,  dreams,  and- omens;  a  very  little  inven 
tion,  just  enough  to  disguise  the  truth  of  history;  a 
very  little  vein  of  a  story,  with  very  little  connection ; 
a  mighty  hero,  and  a  very  little  heroine.  With  these, 
compound  a  quantity  of  actions  without  motive  and 
motives  without  action,  adventures  that  have  no 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  75 

agency  in  producing  the  catastrophe,  and  a  catas 
trophe  without  any  connection  with  the  adventures. 
Put  all  these  in  a  book,  cement  them  together  with 
plenty  of  high-sounding  declamations,  and  get  a 
certificate  from  an  English  review  or  newspaper, 
and  you  have  a  romance,  of  which  more  copies  will 
be  sold  in  a  fortnight  than  of  the  best  history  in  the 
world  in  a  year." 

"  By  the  bye,"  said  Miss  Appleby,  "  have  you  read 
Moore's  Life  of  Byron,  and  heard  that  Murray,  the 
great  London  bookseller,  has  purchased  the  copy 
right  of  his  minor  poems  for  three  thousand  seven 
hundred  guineas  ?  " 

"  What  a  proof  of  the  prodigious  superiority  of 
his  genius !  "  cried  Miss  Overe/id.  "  I  have  read  that 
Milton  sold  his  Paradise  Lost  for  fifteen  pounds." 

"  What  a  noble  testimony  to  the  wonderful  develop 
ment  of  mind!"  cried  Puddingham.  "But  I  believe, 
Mr.  Highfield,  you  don't  believe  in  the  vast  improve 
ment  of  the  age  ?  ",  added  he,  in  his  usual  pompous 
vein. 

"  Not  much,"  replied  the  other ;  "  I  think  the  age 
of  Milton  was  quite  as  learned  and  wise  as  the  pres 
ent.  If  Milton  were  now  living,  an  obscure  author 
or  obnoxious  politician,  I  doubt  whether  Murray 
would  give  him  fifteen  pounds  for  his  Paradise  Lost, 
at  a  venture,  unless  indeed  he  could  secure  a  favoura 
ble  review." 

"  What  a  divine  misanthrope  was  Lord  Byron ! ", 
exclaimed  Miss  Appleby ;  "  how  I  should  glory  in 
being  loved  by  a  man  that  hated  all  the  rest  of  the 
world ! " 

"  My  dear  madam,"  said  Highfield,  "  wouldn't  you 
be  afraid  he  might  kill  you  with  kindness  ?  " 


76  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

"  I  wouldn't  care,  to  die  such  a  glorious  death." 

"  And  so  uncommon  too.  You  would  be  immortal 
ized,  if  only  on  account  of  its  rarity." 

"  Oh,  he  was  a  jewel  of  a  man !  Such  an  inspired 
contempt  for  his  fellow-creatures!  Don't  you  think 
this  a  certain  sign  of  his  superiority  over  the  rest  of 
the  world  ?  " 

"  And  don't  you  think  his  utter  disregard  of  the 
customs  and  prejudices  of  society  a  proof  of  his  lofty 
genius  ?  ",  added  Miss  Overend. 

"  Why  no,  I  can't  say  I  do.  But  I  have  no  dispo 
sition  to  find  fault  with  the  dead  —  it  is  against  an 
old  maxim  I  learned  at  college." 

"  It  is  much  easier  to  give  an  opinion  than  to  sup 
port  it,"  said  the  sententious  Puddingham.  "  Pray 
give  us  your  reasons,  Mr.  Highfield." 

"  I  had  rather  not,"  said  he ;  "I  am  somewhat  tired 
of  his  lordship,  and  heartily  wish  his  cruel  biographers 
would  let  his  memory  rest  in  peace." 

But  they  all  insisted. 

"  Well  then,  since  I  can't  get  off  with  honour,  I 
must  not  disgrace  myself  before  this  good  company. 
In  the  first  place,  I  don't  believe  his  lordship  despised 
the  world  whose  applause  and  admiration  he  was  con 
tinually  seeking.  His  contempt  was  sheer  affectation. 
But  if  he  had  really  despised  it,  I  should  have  a  worse 
opinion  of  him." 

"  As  how,  my  good  sir  ?  "  said  Puddingham. 

"  Because  I  consider  misanthropy  a  proof  of  either 
weakness  or  wickedness.  To  divest  mankind  of  all 
the  virtues,  as  does  the  misanthrope,  is  to  free  our 
selves  virtually  from  all  moral  obligations  towards 
them.  One  may  become  justly  indifferent  to  this 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  77 

world,  but  to  hate  it  seems  to  me  only  a  proof  that  a 
man  is  bad  himself,  and  wants  an  excuse  for  indulg 
ing  his  wicked  propensities,  by  robbing  his  fellow- 
creatures  of  all  claim  to  the  exercise  of  justice  and 
benevolence.  He  is  like  the  pirate,  who  throws  away 
his  allegiance,  only  that  he  may  make  war  on  every 
flag."  ' 

Here  the  great  Puddingham  took  an  emphatic  pinch 
of  snuff;  and,  after  sneezing  violently,  said,  "  Go  on, 
sir;  go  on." 

"  Neither  do  I  believe  that  a  disregard  to  the  com 
mon  maxims  of  life  is  proof  of  a  superior  mind. 
Men  of  great  genius,  indeed,  very  often  pay  little  at 
tention  to  mere  fashions  and  fashionable  opinions,  be- 
because  these  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  settled 
principles  of  religion  or  morality.  But,  so  far  as  re 
spects  my  own  reading  or  experience,  I  never  met 
with  a  man  of  very  extraordinary  powers  of  mind 
who  despised  or  disregarded  those  ordinary  maxims 
of  life  which  are  essential  to  the  very  existence  of 
society ;  much  less  have  I  met  one  of  this  class  who 
prostituted  his  genius  to  the  injury  of  morals  and  re 
ligion,  or  devoted  himself  exclusively  to  low,  grovel 
ling,  mischievous  attempts  to  weaken  their  influence 
on  mankind.  I  have  never  found  such  men  for  ever 
wallowing  in  the  mire  of  sensuality,  or  indulging  a 
malicious  misanthropy  by  sarcasms  and  reasonings 
against  social  ties  and  duties. —  Shall  I  go  on  ?  "  said 
Highfield,  after  a  pause. 

"  Oh,  by  all  means,"  said  Puddingham,  condescend 
ingly. 

"  The  world  of  fashion  has  been  pleased  to  place 
Lord  Byron  beside,  if  not  on  a  level  with,  the  great 


78  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

names  of  ancient  and  modern  literature ;  and,  what 
ever  may  be  my  own  opinion,  I  am  to  estimate  him 
by  that  standard  —  if  I  please.  But  I  don't  please  to 
do  so.  He  will  not  bear  a  comparison  with  any  of 
these.  A  great  genius  always  devotes  himself  to  great 
subjects ;  or,  if  he  sometimes  condescends  to  trifle,  it 
is  only  by  way  of  a  little  relaxation.  We  do  not  find 
Homer,  Virgil,  Dante,  Tasso,  Milton,  and  others  of 
the  great  '  heirs  of  immortality,'  attempting  to  reach 
the  summit  of  fame  through  the  dirty,  winding,  paths 
of  ribaldry  and  sensuality  —  converting  their  muse 
into  a  pander  to  vice,  or  tilting  against  society  and 
morals,  and,  both  by  example  and  precept,  inciting  to 
the  violation  of  the  highest  duties  of  man  to  man,  and 
man  to  woman.  Their  genius  was  nobly  exercised  in 
celebrating  the  glories  of  their  country  ;  the  triumphs 
of  their  religion ;  the  renown  of  virtuous  heroes  ;  and 
the  beauties  of  fortitude,  disinterestedness,  magna 
nimity,  justice,  and  patriotism.  We  never  find  the 
highest  gift  of  Heaven  coupled  with  the  lowest  pro 
pensities  to  profligacy  and  vice.  It  is  only  your  second 
or  third  rate  men  who  are  found  pleading  an  exemp 
tion  from  the  duties  and  obligations  of  morality,  on 
the  score  of  their  superior  genius.  To  my  taste,  Lord 
^yjrprijs,  besides  all  this,  far  below  the  first  rank  of 
poets,  in  sublimity,  invention,  pathos,  and  especially 
in  the  power  of  expressing  his  ideas  and  feelings  with 
that  happy  force  and  richness  combined  with  clearness 
and  simplicity,  for  which  they  are  so  preeminently 
distinguished.  There  is,  to  my  mind,  more  genius  in 
Milton's  Comus  than  in  all  his  lordship's  poetry  put 
together.  As  a  dramatic  writer,  he  cannot  compare 
with — I  put  Shakspeare,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 


THE    AZURE    HOSE.  79 

Otway,  Corneille,  Racine,  and  Voltaire,  out  of  the 
question — but  with  Webster,  Southern,  Dryden,  and 
a  dozen  others.  Childe  Harold,  though  containing 
many  passages  of  great  beauty,  is  without  plot  or 
invention  —  the  mere  unpurposed  wanderings  of  a 
splenetic  sensual  misanthrope,  kindled  into  occasional 
wrath  or  enthusiasm  by  the  sight  of  things  at  the 
roadside,  arid  apparently  incapable  of  any  inspiration 
other  than  that  derived  from  sensible  objects.  The 
Corsair,  The  Giaour,  and  Don  Juan,  are  nothing  more 
than  the  abstracted,  contemplative  Childe  Harold, 
carrying  his  feelings  and  principles  into  practical  ap 
plication.  The  Childe  merely  thinks  as  a  profligate  — 
the  others  act  the  character ;  the  first  two  in  heroics, 
the  last  in  doggerel  and  buffoonery.  They  are  the  same 
person,  in  different  masks ;  and  that  person  seems  to 
be  Lord  Byron  himself.  As  a  satirist,  he  is  far  behind 
Dryden,  Pope,  and  even  Churchill ;  and,  as  a  writer 
of  quaint  doggerel,  he  is  inferior  to  Peter  Pindar,  in 
humour,  waggishness,  and  satirical  drollery.  And 
now,  after  uttering  this  shocking  blasphemy,  I  hum 
bly  take  my  leave."  So  saying,  he  seized  his  hat,  and 
retreated  with  great  precipitation. 

This  was  the  longest  speech  our  hero  ever  uttered ; 
and  if  he  should  take  it  into  his  head  to  make  such 
another  in  the  course  of  this  history,  he  must  get  one 
of  the  reporters  to  Congress  to  write  it  down,  for  I 
demur  to  undertaking  the  task  in  future.  Never  man 
met  with  so  little  applause  for  attempting  to  enlighten 
people  against  their  will  as  did  our  friend  Highfield 
on  this  occasion.  The  whole  coterie,  Lucia  among 
the  rest,  was  scandalized  at  this  atrocious  criticism,' 
and  separated  in  confusion.  Mr.  Fitzgiles  Goshawk 


80  THE  AZUEE  HOSE. 

escorted  Lucia  home,  and  discoursed  as  seldom  man 
in  his  senses,  talking  to  a  woman  in  hers,  ever  dis 
coursed  before. 

He  spoke  of  being  sick  of  the  world ;  disgusted 
with  the  heartlessness  of  mankind  ;  depressed  and 
worn  out  with  the  intensity  of  his  feelings ;  and  de 
voured  by  a  secret  grief,  which  must  never  be  known 
until  he  had  gained  a  refuge  from  care  and  sorrow  in 
the  quiet  grave.  All  this  he  uttered  in  language  I 
confess  myself  inadequate  to  record;  and  with  an  af 
fectation  that  must  have  been  apparent  to  any  one  but 
an  inexperienced  girl.  On  going  away  he  gave  into 
Lucia's  hand  a  paper,  accompanied  by  a  look  that 
went  straight  to  her  heart.  She  retired  to  her  cham 
ber,  and,  unfolding  the  billet  with  trembling  hands, 
found  the  following  exquisite  effusion  :  — 

TO  LUCIA. 

I've  seen  the  rose-bud  glittering  on  its  stalk, 

And  morning  sunbeams  blushing  round  its  head, 

And  many  a  wild  flower  greeting  my  lone  walk, 
And  many  a  withered  wanderer  lying  dead; 

And  I  have  sighed,  and  yet  I  knew  not  why, 

And  listened  to  sweet  nature's  lulling  lullaby. 

And  I  have  heard  the  woodman's  mellow  song, 
And  sober  herds  winding  their  pensive  way, 

And  echoing  cow-bells,  tinkling  forth  ding-dong, 
And  ploughman  whistling  forth  his  roundelay  — 

And  wept  to  think,  ah !  luckless,  loveless  I, 

I  could  not  die  to  live,  nor  live  to  die ! 

And  I  have  dwelt  on  beauty's  angel  smile, 

And  smiling  beauty  in  its  winsome  glee, 
And  pondered  on  my  weary  way  the  while ; 

And  my  heart  sunk,  and  panted  sore,  ah  me! 
And  my  full  breast  did  swell,  and  sorely  sigh ; 
And  shudder  to  its  core,  alas !  I  know  not  why. 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  81 


Ah  !  lady,  list  thee  to  my  pensive  lays, 

And  give  a  sigh  to  my  sad,  sighing  fate ; 
And  ponder  o'er  life's  wild  mysterious  maze; 

And  pity  him  who  feels  its  stifling  weight, 
And  sighs  to  think,  and  thinks  to  sigh  again; 
And  finds  pain  pleasure,  pleasure  pining  pain !        >S. 

"  How  delightful,"  thought  Lucia,  wiping  her  eyes, 
"  how  delightful  it  must  be  to  be  unhappy,  without 
knowing  exactly  why !  To  be  able  to  gather  the 
honey  of  sweet  melancholy,  from  the  flowers,  the 
fruits,  the  smiles,  and  the  beauties,  of  nature !  To 
weep,  where  vulgar  souls  would  sport  and  laugh! 
To  complain  without  reason ;  and  to  banquet  on  the 
lonely  musings  of  a  heart  overfraught  with  the  ex 
quisite  sensibilities  of  genius !  "  And  she  sighed  over 
the  fate  of  this  interesting  man,  who  was  thus  pining 
away  under  some  secret  grief.  She  put  the  inspired 
morceau  into  her  bosom ;  and  that  day,  at  least,  the 
genius  of  Goshawk  triumphed  over  the  good  sense, 
the  manliness,  and  the  wholesome,  healthful  vivacity, 
of  Highfield. 

I  feel  I  ought,  in  justice,  to  apologize  for  my  he 
roine,  who  had  sense  enough  from  nature  to  have 
detected  the  mawkish  folly,  incomprehensible  non 
sense,  and  silly  affectation,  of  this  poetical  grief  of 
Mr.  Fitzgiles  Goshawk.  All  I  can  say  in  her  defence 
is,  that  she  had  been  brought  up  in  the  midst  of  the 
azure  coterie,  all  the  members  of  which  were  consid 
erably  older  than  herself;  had  been  every  day  accus 
tomed  to  hear  them  praise  Mr.  Goshawk,  and  to  hear 
Mr.  Goshawk's  poetry.  She  had  grown  up  in  habit 
ual  veneration  for  them  all ;  and  even  the  notorious 
blunders  of  her  aunt  were  hallowed  by  coming  from 
the  sister  of  her  mother.  Those  who  know  the  spell 

6 


82  THE   AZURE  HOSE. 

which  wrong  precepts  and  early  bad  examples  wind 
about  the  finest  understanding,  and  how  slowly  and 
with  what  labour  it  emancipates  itself,  will,  I  hope, 
excuse  my  heroine.  Such  as  she  is  I  shall  endeavour 
to  exhibit  her,  hoping  that  time  and  experience  will 
yet  make  her  what  she  was  intended  to  be  by  nature. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE   STORY   HASTENS   SLOWLY. 


THE  father  of  Lucia,  though  he  had  not  become 
quite  a  sage,  had  yet  derived  considerable  benefit  from 
experience.  Time  is  as  much  the  friend,  as  the  ene 
my,  of  man ;  and  while  he  plants  the  wrinkles  on  our 
foreheads,  makes  some  amends  by  sowing  the  seeds 
of  wisdom  in  the  mind.  Mr.  Lee  had  come  to  the 
conclusion,  that  the  best  way  of  bringing  about  a 
union  of  hearts  was  to  keep  the  secret  of  his  wishes 
to  himself,  and  let  Lucia  and  Highfield  follow  the 
guidance  of  Dame  Nature.  There  is  something  in 
the  stubborn  heart  of  man  and  woman  that  revolts  at 
becoming  the  dupe  of  a  plan,  even  if  it  be  one  for 
bringing  about  exactly  what  it  wishes  above  all  things. 
I  have  seen  an  over-anxious  mother  drive  a  young 
man  from  'her  house,  only  by  discovering  a  vehement 
desire  to  forward  a  match  between  him  and  the  very 
daughter  he  would  have  selected  if  left  to  himself.  In 
truth,  we  overdo  things  in  this  world,  quite  as  often 
as  we  neglect  what  is  necessary  to  be  done.  The 
parent  who  is  perpetually  watching  the  little  child 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  83 

and  cautioning  it  against  harm,  for  the  most  part  only 
excites  a  curious  longing  to  try  the  experiment  and 
judge  for  itself.  So  it  is  with  grown-up  children,  who, 
like  infants,  are  only  to  be  warned  by  their  own  expe 
rience  ;  and  whom  perpetual  cautions,  recommenda 
tions,  and  supervision,  too  often  only  incite  to  mischiefs 
of  which  they  might  otherwise  never  have  dreamed. 
If  there  ever  was  a  period  of  the  world  in  which  these 
maxims  were  exemplified,  it  is  doubtless  the  present; 
when,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  so  much  pains  have 
been  taken,  by  well-meaning  people  with  better  hearts 
than  heads,  to  improve  mankind,  that  they  have  at 
length  become,  as  it  were,  little  better  than  good  for 
nothing.  But  let  us  return  to  our  story. 

Both  Highfield  and  Lucia,  it  is  believed,  remained 
quite  unconscious  of  the  intentions  of  the  old  gentle 
man  towards  them.  The  former  was  every  day  hint 
ing,  in  the  most  delicate  manner,  his  wish  to  enter 
upon  some  honourable  pursuit,  by  which  he  might 
attain  to  independence  if  not  distinction.  But  the 
old  gentleman  always  put  him  off,  with,  "  Time 
enough,  Charles  —  time  enough:  look  round  a  little, 
and  consider  a  good  deal,  before  you  make  your  choice." 
Highfield  was  in  a  situation  of  peculiar  delicacy  for  a 
high-spirited,  honourable,  man  ;  and  he  refrained  from 
further  importunity.  Still  he  did  not  feel  satisfied. 
He  was  dependent ;  and  if  I  were  to  mark  out  the 
dividing  line  that  separates  men,  it  should  be  here. 
On  one  side  I  would  place  those  whose  manhood  rises 
above  the  degradation  of  a  dependence  on  any  thing 
but  their  own  heads,  hands,  and  hearts ;  and  on  the 
other,  those  inferior  beings  who  are  content  to  be  a 
burthen  upon  their  fathers  or  their  friends,  rather  than 
launch  into  the  ocean  of  life  and  buffet  the  billows. 


84  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

Highfield  belonged  to  the  former  class.  He  longed 
to  make  himself  a  useful  and  honourable  citizen,  by 
the  exercise  of  his  talents  and  industry.  He  had  also 
another  motive.  It  is  quite  impossible  for  two  per 
sons,  especially  of  different  sexes,  to  live  together  in 
the  same  house  and  preserve  a  perfect  indifference 
towards  each  other.  They  will  either  take  a  liking,  or 
a  decided  dislike.  If  they  are  very  young,  this  will 
probably  ripen  into  love,  or  antipathy.  Lucia  was  a 
little  too  much  of  the  azure  ;  but  I  have  seen  the  time, 
not  quite  half  a  century  ago,  when  such  a  woman 
would  have  wakened  in  my  heart  a  hundred  sleeping 
Cupids.  There  was  that  about  her  which,  for  want 
of  some  other  phrase,  we  call  attractive  —  a  charm, 
which,  so  far  as  I  have  ever  analyzed  it,  consists  in  a 
well-made  figure  not  tall ;  a  face  of  mild  gentleness 
mingled  with  vivacity ;  not  always  laughing,  nor  ever 
gloomy ;  always  neat,  yet  never  over-dressed,  (for  no 
woman  can  ever  touch  the  heart,  though  she  may 
overpower  the  senses,  by  her  splendours) ;  a  graceful, 
quiet,  motion ;  a  soft,  melting,  mellow,  voice ;  and  a 
heart  and  an  understanding,  the  one  all  nature,  the 
other  nature  embellished,  not  spoiled,  by  culture  and 
accomplishments.  Such  a  woman,  though  she  may 
not  dazzle  or  mislead  the  imagination,  carries  with  her 
the  true,  moral,  magnetic  influence,  which  lurks  as  it 
were  unseen,  emitting  no  gaudy  splendours,  but  with 
a  mysterious,  inscrutable,  power,  attracting  and  fixing 
every  kindred  sympathy  with  which  it  comes  in  con 
tact.  Such,  in  her  natural  state,  was  Lucia  Lightfoot 
Lee  —  a  lovely  maiden,  butr  alas !  a  little  too  much  of 
the  azure.  Highfield  had  not  been  long  an  inmate 
of  his  uncle's  house,  before  he  began  to  feel  the  force 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  85 

of  that  magnetic  influence  I  have  just  described  ;  and, 
the  moment  he  became  conscious  of  it,  his  anxiety  to 
leave  his  uncle,  and  pursue  some  mode  of  indepen 
dent  existence,  became  stronger. 

His  sense  of  honour  was  not  only  nice,  but  punc 
tilious.  He  was  poor  and  dependent ;  Lucia  was  an 
heiress.  Had  he  believed  it  in  his  power  to  gain  the 
affections  of  his  cousin,  he  would  have  despised  him 
self  for  the  attempt.  But  he  saw  that  her  imagina 
tion,  if  not  her  heart,  was  captivated  by  the  empty 
but  showy  accomplishments  of  Mr.  Goshawk;  and 
the  hope  of  success  was  not  strong  enough  to  blind 
him  to  the  meanness  of  the  attempt.  He  began  to  be 
much  from  home,  and,  when  at  home,  absent  and  in 
attentive  ;  though  his  natural  spirits  kept  him  from 
being  gloomy  or  unsocial.  Lucia  was  too  much  oc 
cupied  with  Mr.  Fitzgiles  Goshawk  and  his  mysteri 
ous  sorrows  to  notice  this ;  but  the  old  gentleman 
began  to  be  fidgety  and  impatient  at  the  unpromising 
prospect  of  his  favourite  plan. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  and  Lucia  ?  "  said 
he,  one  day. 

"  Nothing,  sir,"  replied  Highfield  ;  "  we  are  very  good 
friends." 

"  Friends!  hum  —  ha  —  but  you  don't  seem  to  like 
each  other  as  well  as  you  did  —  hey  ?  " 

"Like,  sir  —  uncle  —  I  am  sure  I  have  a  great 
friendship  for  Miss  Lee." 

"  Ah  !  hum  —  ha  —  friendship — but  don't  you  think 
her  a  d d  fine  girl  —  hey,  boy  ?  " 

"  I  do,  indeed,  sir.  I  think  her  a  sensible,  discreet, 
well-behaved,  promising  young  lady  as  you  will  see." 

"  Ah !    yes  —  sixteen  hands  high  ;  star  in  the  fore- 


»b  THE    AZURE   HOSE. 

head ;  trots  well ;  canters  easy ;  full  blooded ;  and 
three  years  old  last  grass  —  hey?  —  One  would  think 
you  were  praising  a  horse,  instead  of  my  daughter," 
said  the  old  gentleman,  getting  into  a  passion  apace. 

"  My  dear  uncle,  excuse  me.  It  does  not  become 
me  to  speak  of  my  cousin  in  such  terms  of  admiration 
as  I  would  employ  under  different  circumstances." 

"Circumstances!,  sir  —  is  there  any  circumstance 
that  ought  to  prevent  your  seeing  like  other  young 
men,  and  feeling  and  expressing  yourself  as  they 
do?" 

"  Pardon  me,  sir ;  but  I  am  just  now  thinking  of 
quite  a  different  matter." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  sir !  Upon  my  word,  my 
daughter  is  very  much  obliged  to  you.  But  what  is 
the  mighty  affair  ?  " 

"  My  excellent  friend,  don't  be  angry.  If  you  knew 
all,  perhaps  you  would  pity  me.  But  I  must  leave 
you,  and  seek  my  fortune  —  indeed  I  must.  I  am 
wasting  the  best  portion  of  my  life  in  idleness." 

"  And  suppose  you  are,  what  is  that  to  you,  sir,  if 
it  is  my  pleasure  ?  " 

"  You  have  been  a  father  to  me,  sir,  and  I  owe  you 
both  gratitude  and  obedience.  But  there  are  duties 
to  ourselves,  which  ought  to  be  attended  to.  I  am 
but  a  dependant  on  your  bounty,  after  all  —  a  beg 
gar  " 

"  A  beggar !  —  'tis  false,  sir,  you're  not  a  beggar. 
But  I  see  how  it  is  ;  you  want  to  be  made  indepen 
dent  ;  you  want  me  to  make  a  settlement  on  you ; 
you  are  not  content  to  wait  till  an  old  man  closes  his 
eyes ;  you  " 

"  Uncle,"   said   Highfield,  with  his   cheek   burning 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  87 

and  his  eye  glistening,  "  do  you  really  believe  me 
such  a  despicable  scoundrel  ?  " 

"  Why  —  no  —  I  believe  you  are  only  a  fool,  that  is 
all.  But  I'll  never  forgive  you;  you  have  deranged 
all  my  plans ;  you  have  rejected  the  happiness  I  had 
in  store  for  you ;  you  will  bring  rny  gray  hairs  with 
sorrow  to  the  grave.  Yes,  yes,  yes,  I  see  it,  I  see  it 
—  I  am  doomed  to  be  a  miserable,  disappointed, 
heart-broken  old  man." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  uncle,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Matter !  why  the  matter  is,  you  are  a  blockhead ; 
you  are  dumb,  deaf,  blind  ;  you  haven't  one  of  the  five 
senses  in  perfection,  or  you  might  have  known  "  — 

"  Known  what,  sir  ?  " 

li  Why,"  roared  the  old  gentleman,  in  a  transport  of 
rage,  a  you  might  have  seen  that  I  intended  you  for 
my  son-in-law  —  you  blockhead ;  that  I  meant  to 
leave  you  and  Lucia  all  my  estate  —  you  fool ;  that  I 
had  set  my  heart  on  it  —  you  —  you  ungrateful  vil 
lain.  But  I'll  be  even  with  —  I'll  disinherit  you  — 

I'll  disown  you  —  I'll  send  you  to  the  d 1,  sir,  for 

your  base  ingratitude  —  I  will." 

Highneld  stood  a  moment  or  two,  overpowered  by 
this  unexpected  disclosure  of  his  uncle.  He  actually 
trembled  at  the  prospect  it  opened  before  him.  At 
length  he  exclaimed :  — 

"  My  best  of  friends,  I  never  dreamed  that  such  was 
your  intention." 

"  Why,  sir,  I  have  cherished  it,  lived  upon  it,  ever 
since  Lucia  was  born.  Not  know  it  ?  What  a  blind 
fool  you  must  be  ! " 

"  But  you  never  communicated  it,  sir ;  and  how 
could  I  know  it?" 


88  THE  AZURE  HOSE. 

"  Why,  ay,  that  is  true  indeed.  When  I  think  of  it, 
there  is  some  excuse  for  you,  as  I  never  hinted  my 
intention.  But  it  is  all  over  now ;  you  want  to  leave 
us;  and  you  think  Lucia  'a  sensible,  discreet,  well- 
behaved,  promising  young  woman,'  —  sixteen  hands 
high  ;  "  —  mimicking  poor  Highneld,  as  he  repeated 
these  panegyrics. 

"  I  think  her,"  said  Highneld,  "  for  now  I  dare 
speak  what  I  think  —  I  think  her  all  that  a  father 
could  wish,  all  that  a  lover  could  desire  in  his  mo 
ments  of  most  glowing  anticipation.  I  think  her  the 
loveliest,  the  best,  the  most  accomplished,  the  most 
angelic,  the  most  divine  "  — 

"  Ah !  that  will  do,  that  will  do,  boy ;  you  talk  like 
a  hero  —  tol-de-rol-lol !  "  And  the  old  gentleman  cut  a 
most  unprecedented  caper.  Give  me  your  hand, 
boy;  it's  a  bargain  —  we'll  have  the  wedding  next 
week." 

"Ah,  sir!"  said  the  young  man,  with  a  sigh,  "1 
doubt  —  you  know  there  is  another  person  to  be  con 
sulted." 

"  Another  person !     Who  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  " 

"  Your  daughter,  sir." 

"  Bless  me  !  that  is  true,  indeed.  I  had  forgot  that. 
But  I'll  soon  bring  the  matter  about.  I'll  tell  her  it  is 
the  first  wish  of  my  heart.  If  she  refuses,  I'll  talk 
reason  to  her.  If  she  won't  listen  to  reason,  I  will  talk 
to  her  like  a  father  —  I'll  let  her  know  who  is  master 
in  this  house,  I  warrant  you.  I'll  go  this  instant,  and 
settle  the  matter."  And  the  old  gentleman  was  pro 
ceeding  to  make  good  his  words. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  sir,  don't  be  in  such  a  hurry," 
cried  Highfield  eagerly ;  "  you  will  ruin  me  and  my 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  89 

hopes,  if  you  proceed  in  such  a  hurry.  Alas !  sir,  I 
fear  it  is  too  late  now." 

"  What  does  the  puppy  mean  ?  " 

"  I  fear  my  cousin's  affections  are  already  engaged." 

"To  whom,  sir?  —  tell  me  quick,  quick,  sir — to 
whom  ?  I'll  engage  her,  the  baggage ;  I'll  let  her 
know  who  is  who ;  I'll  teach  her  to  throw  away  her 
affections  without  consulting  me  —  I'll  shut  the  door 
in  the  scoundrel's  face,  and  shut  my  daughter  up  in 

her  chamber — I'll  —  why  the  d 1,  sir,  don't  you 

answer  me ;  what  do  you  stand  there  for,  playing 
dummy  ?  Tell  me,  sir.  —  who  is  the  villain  that  has 
stolen  my  daughter's  affections  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  say  positively,  sir,  and  I  have  no  right  to 
betray  the  young  lady's  secrets ;  but  I  fear  Mr.  Gos 
hawk  has  made  a  deep  impression  on  her  heart." 

Mr.  Lee  was  never  in  so  great  a  passion  before : 
not  even  with  his  man  Juba,  of  whom  I  could  never 
make  up  my  mind  to  my  satisfaction,  whether  he  was 
his  master's  master,  or  which  was  the  better  man  of 
the  two.  Juba  was  of  the  blood  royal  of  Monomo- 
tapa,  a  mighty  African  kingdom.  He  had  been  in 
the  family  long  enough  to  outlive  three  generations, 
and  thus  fairly  acquired  a  right  to  be  as  crusty  as  his 
master,  who,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  was  terribly  hen 
pecked  by  the  royal  exile.  The  old  gentleman  once 
had  a  dispute  at  his  own  table  with  one  of  his  neigh 
bours  at  the  South,  and  some  words  passed  between 
them. 

"  Massa,"  said  Juba,  when  the  company  had  retired, 
— "  massa,  we  can't  put  up  wid  dat :  mus'  call  um 
out." 

The  good  gentleman  quietly  submitted,  and  called 
out  his  neighbour,  who  fortunately  apologized. 


90  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

"  Iced,  massa,"  said  Juba,  "  we  brought  um  to  de 
bull-ring,  didn't  we?" 

But  to  return  from  this  commemoration  of  our  old 
friend,  Juba. 

Mr.  Lee  was  in  a  towering  passion.  Of  all  the 
men  he  had  ever  seen,  known,  or  read  of,  Mr.  Gos 
hawk  was  the  one  for  whom  he  cherished  the  most 
special  and  particular  antipathy.  He  considered  him 
an  empty,  idle,  shallow,  affected  coxcomb,  without 
heart  or  intellect;  a  pretender  to  literary  taste  and 
acquirements ;  a  contemner  of  useful  knowledge  and 
pursuits,  whose  sole  business  was  to  exhibit  feelings 
to  which  he  was  a  stranger,  to  excite  sympathy  for 
affected  sorrows,  and  to  impose  upon  the  susceptible 
follies  of  ancient  spinsters  or  inexperienced  girls. 
"  The  fellow  carries  a  drum  in  his  head,"  would  he 
say,  "  and  is  for  ever  sounding  false  alarms.  You  think 
he  is  going  to  play  a  grand  march,  but  it  is  nothing 
but  rub-a-dub,  rub-a-dub,  over  and  over  again." 

"Goshawk!"  at  length  he  cried,  —  "what!  that 
starved  epitome  of  a  wind -dried  rhymester ;  that 
shadow  of  a  shadow  of  a  shadow  of  a  stringer  of  dog 
gerel  ;  that  imitator  of  an  imitator  in  the  sixteenth 
degree  of  consanguinity  to  an  original ;  that  blower 
of  the  bellows  to  the  last  spark  of  an  expiring  fancy ! 
Confound  me  if  I  had  not  rather  have  heard  she  had 
fallen  in  love  with  the  trumpeter  to  a  puppet  show." 

"  My  dear  uncle,  I  don't  say  my  cousin  is  actually 
in  love  with  Mr.  Goshaxvk;  but  I  think  she  has  a 
preference  ;  a  —  a  —  at  least,  I  am  pretty  sure,  her 
imagination  is  full  of  his  genius,  eloquence,  and  beau 
tiful  poetry." 

"  Genius,  eloquence,  poetry  —  pish !  I  could  make 


THE    AZURE   HOSE.  91 

a  better  poem  out  of  a  confectioner's  mottoes,  than  he 
will  ever  write.  But  she  shall  either  renounce  him 
this  minute,  or  I  will  renounce  her." 

Highfield  begged  his  uncle  to  pause  before  he  pro 
ceeded  to  such  extremities.  He  reasoned  with  him 
on  the  bad  policy  of  rousing  into  opposition  a  feeling 
which  was  perhaps  only  latent,  and  giving  it  the  stim 
ulus  of  anger,  by  assailing  it  too  roughly.  He  cau 
tioned  him  against  the  common  error,  of  supposing 
that  to  forbid  a  thing  was  the  best  possible  way  of 
preventing  its  coming  to  pass ;  or  that  love  was  to  be 
quelled  by  a  puff  of  opposition.  He  conjured  him  to 
say  nothing  on  the  subject;  to  look  on  without  inter 
fering  ;  to  appear  as  if  he  neither  saw,  nor  participated 
in,  any  thing  going  forward. 

"  If,"  said  he,  "  I  am  not  deceived  in  my  lovely  and 
sensible  cousin,  it  is  only  necessary  to  leave  her  good 
sense  and  growing  experience  to  operate,  and  before 
long  they  will  of  themselves  indicate  to  her  the  error 
of  her  taste  and  imagination.  But  if  I  should  be  de 
ceived  in  this  rational  anticipation,"  added  he,  proudly 
and  firmly ;  "if  I  find  that  her  heart  is  seriously  and 
permanently  attached,  I  give  you  my  honour,  I  pledge 
my  unalterable  determination,  that  I  will  not  permit 
myself  to  be  either  the  motive  or  the  instrument  for 
forcing  her  inclinations.  If  I  cannot  win  her  fairly, 
and  against  the  field,  so  help  me  Heaven,  I  will  never 
wear  her." 

"You  talk  like  a  professor,  and  a  blockhead  to  boot," 
said  Mr.  Lee,  half  pleased  and  half  offended.  "  But 
hark  ye,  Mr.  Highfield,  if  I  take  your  advice,  and  it 
turns  out  badly,  I'll  disinherit  you  both." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  uncle,  so  far  as  respects  myself. 


92  THE   AZURE    HOSE. 

Only  say  nothing;  do  nothing;  and  let  matters  take 
their  course.  We  often  make  things  crooked  by  tak 
ing  too  much  pains  to  straighten  them.  '  Let  us 
alone,'  as  the  anti-tariff  folks  say." 

"  Your  most  humble  servant,  sir,"  quoth  Mr.  Lee, 
with  a  profound  bow  —  "I  am  to  play  Mr.  Nobody, 
then,  in  this  trifling  affair  of  the  disposal  of  my  only 
child  ?  " 

"  Only  for  a  little  while,  sir,  when  you  shall  resume 
the  sceptre  again." 

"With  which  I  shall  certainly  break  your  head,  if 
your  wise  plan  should  happen  to  fail." 

"  Agreed,  uncle.  I  shall  then  be  broken -headed,  as 
well  as  broken-hearted.  For,  by  Heaven,  I  love  my 
cousin,  well  enough  to" 

"  To  resign  her  to  an  empty,  heartless,  brainless 
coxcomb.  But  come,  I  give  up  the  reins  to  my  wise 
Phaeton,  who,  if  he  don't  burn  up  the  world,  I  dare 
swear  will  set  the  North  river  on  fire.  Here  comes 
Fairweather :  I  will  consult  him,  though  I  know  the 
old  blockhead  will  be  of  a  contrary  opinion,  as  he 
always  is.  Go,  and  make  a  bow  to  Lucia ;  play  Mr. 
Goshawk,  and  talk  as  much  like  a  madman  as  pos 
sible." 


CHAPTER  VII. 


MORE  PUKE  AZUBK. 


HIGHFIELD  sought  Lucia,  and  found  her  sitting  at 
a  window  which  looked  out  upon  the  beautiful  bay, 
where  the  fair  and  noble  Hudson  basks  its  beauties 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  93 

for  awhile  in  the  sun  before  it  loses  itself  for  ever  in 
the  vast  solitudes  of  the  pathless  sea.  It  was  an 
April  morning,  such  as  sometimes  appears  in  the  dis 
guise  of  sunshine  and  zephyrs,  to^cheat  us  into  a 
belief  that  laughing  jolly  spring  is  come  again.  The 
bay  was  one  wide  waveless  mirror,  along  whose  sur 
face  lay  here  and  there  a  little  lazy  mist  lolling  in  the 
warm  sunbeams,  or  sometimes  scudding  along  before 
a  frolic  breeze  that  rose  in  playful  vigour  and  then 
died  away  in  a  moment.  In  some  places,  the  vessels 
appeared  as  if  becalmed  among  the  clouds,  their  pro 
portions  looming  in  imposing  magnitude  through  the 
deceptive  mists;  and  in  others,  you  might  see  them 
exhaling  the  damps  and  fogs  condensed  on  their  sails 
and  decks,  in  clouds  of  snow-white  vapour.  Here 
and  there  you  could  trace  the  course  of  a  steam-boat 
to  the  Kills  or  the  Quarantine,  by  a  long  pennant  of 
dark  smoke  slowly  expanding  in  the  dampness  of  the 
circumambient  air,  and  anon  see  her  shoot,  as  if  by 
magic,  from  the  distant  obscurity.  The  grass  had 
just  begun  to  put  forth  its  spires  of  tender  green,  the 
trees  to  assume  an  almost  imperceptible  purple  tint 
from  the  expansion  of  the  buds  ;  the  noisy  city  lads 
were  spinning  tops,  flying  kites,  or  shooting  marbles, 
in  the  walks ;  and  now  and  then,  a  little  feathered 
stranger,  cheated  by  the  genial  hour  into  a  belief  that 
spring  was  come,  chirped  merrily  among  the  leafless 
branches. 

Lucia  was  at  the  open  window,  her  rosy  cheek 
leaning  pensively  on  her  snowy  hand.  She  had  just 
finished  reading,  for  the  twentieth  time,  the  pathetic 
and  interesting  effusion  of  Mr.  Goshawk.  All  that 
she  could  understand  from  it  was,  that  he  was  very, 


94  THE  AZURE  HOSE. 

very  miserable  about  something,  she  knew  not  what ; 
and  the  mystery  of  his  sorrows  invested  them  with 
an  indescribable,  indefinable,  interest.  Not  but  what 
our  heroine  had  her  suspicions,  and  those  suspicions 
increased  her  sympathy  a  hundred  fold.  "  Unfortu 
nate  man  !  "  would  she  say  to  herself,  "  he  is  consum 
ing  in  the  secret  fires  kindled  in  his  bosom  by  the 
intense  ardour  of  his  genius,  the  acute  sensibilities  of 
his  heart!" 

Highfield  was  one  of  the  most  amiable  of  the  tribe 
of  lovers,  nine  in  ten  of  whom,  I  must  be  allowed  to 
say,  deserve  to  be  turned  out  of  doors  by  the  fair  ob 
jects  of  their  persecutions,  once  a  day  at  least.  If 
they  are  in  doubt,  they  are  either  stupidly  silent  or 
perversely  disagreeable ;  if  they  are  jealous,  they  look 
and  act  just  like  fools ;  and  if  successful,  there  is  an 
insulting  security,  a  triumphant  self-conceit,  that,  to 
a  woman  gifted  with  the  becoming  pride  of  the  sex  is 
altogether  insufferable.  I  can  tell  a  successful  wooer 
as  far  off  as  I  can  see  him.  He  does  nothing  but  ad 
mire  his  leg,  as  he  trips  along ;  and  you  would  fancy 
he  saw  his  mistress  in  every  looking-glass.  But 
Highfield  was  gay,  good-humoured,  and  sensible. 
He  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  make  himself 
hated  because  he  was  in  love ;  nor  to  increase  the 
preference  of  his  mistress  for  another,  by  treating  her 
with  neglect  or  ill-manners.  True,  these  things  are 
considered  the  best  evidence  of  sincere  passion ;  but 
I  would  advise  young  women  to  beware  of  a  man 
whom  love  makes  unamiable :  as  I  myself  would  be 
ware  of  one  whom  the  intoxication  of  wine  made 
turbulent  and  quarrelsome.  Both  love  and  wine  draw 
forth  the  inmost  nature  of  man. 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  95 

"  Well,  Lucia,"  said  Highfield,  with  a  familiar 
frankness  \vhich  his  intimacy  and  near  relationship 
warranted  — "  Well,  Lucia,  have  you  begun  my 
watch-chain  yet?" 

"  No,"  said  she,  sighing. 

"  Well,  my  coz,  when  do  you  mean  to  begin  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  she  languidly  — "  one  of 
these  days,  I  believe." 

"  What  ails  you,  Lucia  —  are  you  not  well  ?  " 

"  Not  very  —  I  have  got  a  sort  of  oppression,  a 
heaviness,  a  disposition  to  sigh;  something  here,"  — 
pressing  her  hand  on  her  bosom,  from  whence  peeped 
forth  a  little  corner  of  Goshawk's  effusion.  Highfield 
saw  it,  and  the  blood  rushed  into  his  cheeks ;  but  he 
quelled  the  rising  fiend  of  jealousy,  and  asked,  in  a 
tone  of  deep  interest,  if  she  would  not  take  a  walk 
with  him  on  the  Battery.  She  declined,  in  a  tone  of 
perfect  indifference. 

"  Shall  we  go  and  call  on  Miss  Appleby  ?  "  Lucia 
was  all  life  and  animation.  She  put  on  her  hat,  her 
shawl,  and  the  thousand  et-ca3tera  that  go  to  the  con 
stitution  of  a  fashionable  lady  ;  and  tripped  away 
like  a  little  fairy.  She  expects  to  meet  Goshawk 
there,  thought  Highfield  ;  but  he  neither  pouted,  nor 
was  rude  to  his  cousin,  on  the  way.  Nay,  he  exerted 
all  his  wit  and  pleasantry,  and  before  they  arrived 
Lucia  thought  to  herself  she  would  begin  to  net  the 
watch-chain  that  very  evening.  They  found  all  the 
azures,  except  Mr.  Goshawk,  assembled  at  one  of 
the  drawing-room  windows,  clamourously  reading 
and  clamourously  applauding  some  verses  written  on 
a  pane  of  glass  with  a  diamond  pencil  The  reader 
shall  not  miss  them.  They  ran  as  follows  : 


96  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

Cursed  be  the  sun —  'tis  but  a  heavenly  hell! 

Cursed  be  the  moon,  false  woman's  planet  pale; 
Cursed  the  bright  stars,  that  man's  wild  fortunes  tell; 

And  cursed  the  elements  !  Oh  !  I  could  rail 
At  power,  and  potentates,  and  paltry  pelf, 
And,  most  of  all,  at  that  vile  wretch,  myself! 

What  are  the  bonds  of  life,  but  halters  tied? 

What  love,  but  luxury  of  bitter  woe? 
What  man,  but  misery  personified  ? 

What  woman,  but  an  angel  fallen  below? 
What  hell,  but  heaven  —  what  heaven,  but  hell  above? 
What  love,  but  hate  —  what  hate,  but  curdled  love? 

What's  wedlock,  but  community  of  ill  ? 

What  single  blessedness,  but  double  pain? 
What  life's  best  sweets,  but  a  vile  doctor's  pill  ? 

What  life  itself,  but  dying  o'er  and  o'er  again? 
And  what  this  earth,  the  vilest,  and  the  last, 
On  which  the  planets  all  their  offal  cast  ? 

Oh !   doubly  cursed 

Here,  it  would  seem,  the  bard  stopped  to  take 
breath ;  either  overcome  by  his  own  exertions,  or 
finding  there  was  nothing  left  for  him  to  curse. 

"  I  never  heard  such  delightful  swearing,"  cried 
Miss  Appleby. 

"  What  charming  curses !  ",  cried  Miss  Overend. 

"  What  touching  misanthropy!",  cried  Mr.  Paddle- 
ford. 

"  What  powerful  writing! ",  cried  Puddingham. 

"  What  glowing  meteors  ! ",  cried  Mrs.  Coates,  de 
termined  not  to  mistake  meteors  for  metaphors,  this 
time. 

Lucia  said  nothing ;  but  the  tumult  of  her  bosom 
told  her  nobody  could  write  such  heart-rending  lines 
but  Mr.  Goshawk. 

"  Don't  you  think  them  equal  to  Lord  Byron  ? " 
said  Miss  Appleby  to  Highfield. 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  97 

"  Very  likely,  madam  ;  Lord  Byron  wrote  a  vast 
deal  of  heartless  fustian." 

"  Heartless  fustian !  ",  screamed  Miss  Appleby ;  and 
"  heartless  fustian  ! "  echoed  the  rest  of  the  azures, 
with  the  exception  of  Lucia,  who  determined  not  to 
commence  the  watch-chain  that  evening,  if  ever. 

"  Fustian  !  do  you  call  such  poetry,  fustian  —  so 
full  of  powerful  writing,  and  affording  such  delicious 
excitement?  For  my  part,  I  can't  live  without 
excitement  of  some  kind  or  other,"  said  Miss  Over- 
end. 

"  What  kind  of  excitement  do  you  mean,  madam," 
said  Highfield,  mischievously ;  "  the  Morgan  excite 
ment  *,  or  the  bank  excitement  ?  " 

"  Pshaw,  Mr.  Highfield,  you  are  always  ridiculing 
sentiment.  I  mean  the  excitement  of  powerful  writ 
ing,  powerful  feeling,  powerful  passion,  grief,  joy, 
rage,  despair,  madness,  misanthropy,  pain,  pleasure, 
anticipation,  retrospection,  disappointment,  hope,  and 
—  and  —  every  thing  that  creates  excitement.  By 
the  bye,  they  say  the  author  of  Redwood  f  is  com 
ing  out  with  a  new  novel.  I  wonder  what  it  is 
about." 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Highfield  ;  "  but  I  ven 
ture  to  predict  it  will  be  all  that  is  becoming  in  a 
sensible,  well-bred,  well-educated,  delicate  woman, 
misled  neither  by  a  false  taste  nor  affected  senti 
ment." 

*  William  Morgan,  a  member  of  the  Masonic  fraternity,  abducted,  and, 
'it  is  supposed,  murdered,  in  September  1826,  by  other  masons,  because  he  had 
intimated  his  intention  of  divulging  certain  secrets  of  the  order.  The  inci 
dent,  with  subsequent  investigation  and  discussion,  caused  a  strong  social 
and  political  agitation  in  the  State  of  New  York. 

f  Miss  Sedgwick. 

7 


98  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

"  Pooh !  "  said  the  great  Puddingham,  "  there  is  no 
fire  in  her  works." 

"  Nor  brimstone  either,"  said  Highfield. 

"  Nor  murder,"  said  Miss  Appleby. 

"  Nor  powerful  writing,"  said  Miss  Overend. 

"  Nothing  to  make  the  heart  burst  like  a  barrel  of 
gunpowder,"  said  little  Mrs.  Petticoats. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  replied  Highfield  ;  "  but  a  book  may 
be  worth  something,  without  either  fire,  murder,  or 
gunpowder,  in  it." 

Here  the  discussion  was  cut  short  by  the  entrance 
of  Mr.  Goshawk,  who  bowed  languidly  to  the  com 
pany,  walked  languidly  to  a  sofa,  and,  flinging  him 
self  listlessly  down,  leaned  pensively  upon  his  head, 
and  sighed  most  piteously.  Mr.  Goshawk  was  one 
of  the  most  extraordinary  men  living.  He  hated  the 
world,  yet  could  not  live  a  day  without  attracting  its 
notice  in  some  way  or  other ;  he  sighed  for  solitude, 
yet  took  every  opportunity  of  being  in  a  crowd ;  and, 
though  confessedly  the  most  miserable  of  mortals, 
was  never  so  happy  as  when  every  body  was  admir 
ing  his  secret  sorrows.  He  had  thrown  himself  acci 
dentally  by  the  side  of  Lucia. 

"  Ah !  Mr.  Goshawk,"  said  she,  "  we've  found  you 
out!" 

Goshawk  knew  as  well  what  she  meant  as  she  did 
herself;  but  he  looked  at  her  with  the  most  absent, 
vacant,  ignorant  wonder  it  was  possible  for  any  man 
to  assume,  as  he  answered, 

"  Found  me  out,  Miss  Lee  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes;  the  verses  —  the  beautiful  verses,  writ 
ten  with  a  diamond  pencil,  on  the  pane  of  glass.  You 
need  not  deny  it;  nobody  but  yourself  could  have 
written  such  powerful  poetry." 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  99 

"  No,  no  ;  you  can't  deny  it,  Mr.  Goshawk ;  the  foot 
of  Hercules  is  in  it,"  cried  Miss  Appleby :  and  the 
opinion  was  echoed  by  all  present.  Whereupon  Mr. 
Goshawk  acknowledged  that,  being  that  morning  de 
pressed  by  a  dead  weight  of  insupportable  melancholy, 
he  had  walked  forth  into  Miss  Appleby's  drawing- 
room,  and,  finding  no  one  there,  had  relieved  his  over- 
fraught  heart,  in  those  unpremeditated  strains.  The 
azures  applied  their  cambric  handkerchiefs  to  their 
eyes,  and  pitied  poor  Mr.  Goshawk  for  labouring  under 
such  a  troublesome  excess  of  sentimental  sadness. 

The  conversation  then  took  a  different  turn,  inter 
rupted  occasionally  by  the  assurances  of  Mr.  Gos 
hawk,  that  his  verses  were  all  written  under  the 
impress  of  the  moment ;  though  we,  as  authors  know 
ing  the  secrets  of  all  our  brethren,  are  ready  to  make 
affidavit  that  he  never  wrote  a  line  without  cudgelling 
his  poor  brains  into  mummy,  and  spurring  his  Pegasus 
till  his  sides  ran  blood. 

"  So,  there  is  a  new  Waverley  coming  out,"  quoth 
Puddingham,  who  was  deep  in  booksellers'  secrets; 
"  I  am  told,  one  of  the  principal  characters  is  Charles 
the  fifth." 

«  What,  he  that  was  beheaded  at  Whitehall-slip  ?  ", 
asked  Mrs.  Coates. 

"  No,  my  dear  madam,"  said  Highfield ;  "  he  that 
resigned  his  crown  before  he  lost  his  head." 

"  How  I  delight  to  read  novels  in  which  there  is 
plenty  of  kings  and  queens ;  'tis  so  refined  and  gen 
teel  to  be  in  such  good  society,"  said  Miss  Overend. 

"  I  never  get  tired  of  kings  and  queens,  let  them  be 
ever  so  stupid,"  said  Miss  Appleby ;  "  every  thing  they 
say  is  so  clever,  and  every  thing  they  do,  so  dignified." 


100  THE   AZURE    HOSE. 

«  Well,  for  my  part,"  said  Highfield,  "to  me  noth 
ing  is  so  vulgar  an  expedient  of  authorship,  as  that  of 
introducing  the  reader  into  the  society  of  great  names, 
and  making  the  bearers  talk,  not  like  themselves,  but 
like  the  author.  In  this  manner,  Rochester  becomes 
a  dull  debauchee  ;  Bolingbroke,  a  prosing  blockhead  ; 
and  the  greatest  wits  of  the  age,  as  stupid  as  the 
writer.  I  am  tired  of  seeing  this  parade  of  regal  and 
titled  realities  introduced  as  shadows  to  our  acquaint 
ance  ;  and  have  it  in  serious  contemplation,  (unless  I 
should  happen  to  fall  into  a  cureless,  causeless  melan 
choly),  to  write  a  novel,  in  which  the  principal  actors 
shall  be  gods,  and  the  common  people,  kings  and 
queens.  Queen  Elizabeth  shall  lace  Juno's  corsets; 
Alexander  the  great,  trim  Jupiter's  whiskers ;  Mary, 
queen  of  Scots,  enact  a  beautiful  bar-maid ;  and 
Charlemagne,  a  crier  of  Carolina  potatoes." 

"  Then  you  don't  mean  to  recognise  any  distinctions 
in  mere  mortal  society  ? ",  asked  Lucia,  amused  in 
spite  of  herself  with  this  banter. 

"  Why,  I  don't  know.  I  have  some  thoughts  of  a 
sort  of  geological,  instead  of  genealogical,  arrange 
ment,  to  consist  of  the  primitive,  the  secondary,  and 
the  alluvial.  The  fashionable  primitives  shall  be  those 
who  carry  their  pedigrees  back  into  oblivion  —  whose 
origin  is  entirely  unknown ;  the  secondary  will  con 
sist  of  such  as  have  not  had  time  to  forget  their 
honoured  ancestors ;  and  the  alluvial  be  composed  of 
the  rich  washings  of  the  other  two,  which  have  so 
lately  made  their  appearance  above  water  that  there 
has  been  no  time  for  them  to  become  barren  and  good- 
for-nothing."  Highfield  was  now  caUed  off  by  Miss 
Appleby. 


THE  AZURE  HOSE.  101 

Lucia  appeared  so  much  diverted  with  this  whimsi 
cal  arrangement  that  Goshawk,  who,  though  the  most 
abstracted  of  human  beings,  never  for  a  moment  for 
got  himself  or  his  vanity,  thought  it  high  time  to 
interfere. 

"  A  clever  young  man  that  —  a  very  clever  young 
man,"  drawled  he;  "quite  pleasant,  but  superficial  — 
no  energy,  no  pathos,  no  powerful  passion,  no  enthu 
siasm,  without  which  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as 
genius.  Give  me  the  man,"  cried  he,  with  a  fat  and 
greasy  flow  of  sonorous  words,  —  "  give  me  the  man  to 
whom  the  croaking  of  a  cricket  is  the  signal  for  lofty 
meditation,  and  the  fall  of  a  leaf  a  text  for  lorn  and 
melancholy  abstraction  ;  one  who  is  alone  in  the  midst 
of  a  crowd,  and  surrounded  when  alone  by  myriads  of 
sparkling  imps  of  inspiration,  millions  of  beings  with 
out  being,  and  thoughts  without  thought ;  one  to  whom 
shadows  are  substances,  and  substances,  shadows ;  to 
whom  the  present  is  always  absent,  the  future  always 
past;  who  lives,  and  moves,  and  has  his  being,  in  an 
airy  creation  of  his  own,  and  circulates  in  his  own  pe 
culiar  orb ;  who  rejoices  without  joy,  and  is  wretched 
without  wretchedness ;  one,  in  short,  who  never  laughs 
but  in  misery,  or  weeps  except  for  very  excess  of  joy 
—  who  lives  in  the  world,  a  miserable  yet  splendid 
example  of  the  sufferings  endured  by  a  superior  being, 
when  condemned  to  associate  with  an  inferior  race, 
and  to  derive  his  enjoyments  from  the  same  mean, 
miserable,  five  senses."  Here  he  sunk  back  on  the 
sofa,  overpowered  by  his  emotions. 

"  What  a  being ! "  thought  Lucia,  and  fell  into  a 
painful  doubt,  whether  such  a  being  would  ever  con 
descend  to  think  of  her  a  moment,  present  or  absent. 


102  THE  AZURE  HOSE. 

"  He  is  above  this  world  ! "  said  she,  and  sighed  a  hun 
dred  times,  to  think  of  a  man's  being  so  much  supe 
rior  to  his  fellow-creatures. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A    GREAT   FALLING   OFF. 

RETURNING  home,  our  heroine  threw  herself  on  a 
sofa  —  be  pleased  to  take  notice  she  did  not  sit  down, 
for  that  would  have  been  unworthy  a  heroine  —  she 
threw  herself  on  a  sofa,  and  passed  some  time  in 
sympathizing  with  the  sufferings  of  Mr.  Goshawk. 
She  sighed  for  an  opportunity  of  communing  with 
him  on  the  fathomless  abyss  of  his  mysterious  mise 
ries,  and  wished — O,  how  devoutly!  —  wished  her 
self  the  privileged  being  destined  at  last  to  be  the 
soother  of  his  sorrows,  the  sharer  of  his  thoughts,  the 
companion  of  his  reveries,  and  the  better  half  of  his 
abstract,  inexplicable  mystifications.  "  Would  that  I 
knew,  that  I  could  comprehend,  what  it  is  that  makes 
him  so  wretched,"  thought  Lucia,  little  suspecting 
that  the  poor  gentleman  himself  would  have  been 
puzzled  to  tell  her. 

She  was  roused  from  this  painfully-pleasing  reverie 
by  something  which  attracted  her  attention  on  the 
sofa.  She  looked  at  it,  and  rubbed  her  eyes  —  and 
rubbed  her  eyes  and  looked  at  it  again.  The  thing 
was  too  plain,  she  could  not  possibly  be  deceived. 
She  started  up  and  rang  the  bell  furiously,  and,  the 
servant  not  coming  sooner  than  it  was  possible  for 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  103 

him  to  come,  she  rang  it  again  still  more  emphatically. 
At  length  Juba  made  his  appearance,  with  his  usual 
deliberation.  An  African  gentleman  of  colour  seldom 
indulges  himself  by  being  in  a  hurry. 

"  Who  did  that  ? "  asked  Lucia,  pointing  to  the 
sofa. 

Juba  advanced,  looked  at  the  spot,  and  began  to 
grin,  with  that  redundant  show  of  ivory  peculiar  to 
his  race. 

"  Ah !  Massa  Fairwedder,  Massa  Fairwedder,  he 
droll  man,  he." 

"  What !  had  Mr.  Fairweather  the  impudence  "  — 

"  Ees,  ees,  he  here  dis  mornin'/'  replied  Juba,  grin 
ning  more  than  ever. 

Lucia  immediately  summoned  the  whole  household, 
consisting  of  a  troop  of  coloured  ladies  and  gentle 
men,  whose  principal  business  was  to  make  work  for 
each  other.  Ever  since  Lucia  became  azure,  they  had 
been  suffered  to  do  pretty  much  as  they  pleased,  and 
it  was  their  pleasure  to  do  nothing  but  copy  their 
young  mistress  in  dress  and  behaviour  as  much  as 
possible.  They  had  a  dancing-master  in  the  kitchen, 
to  teach  them  waltzing,  and  talked  seriously  of  a  mas 
querade,  or  a  fancy-ball  at  least.  The  black  cook  was 
something  of  an  azure  herself,  read  all  those  useful 
little  tracts  which  teach  servants  the  duties  of  masters 
and  mistresses,  wore  prunello  shoes,  and  cooked  dinner 
in  an  undress  of  black  silk ;  the  coachman  was  almost 
as  sentimentally  miserable  as  Mr.  Goshawk;  and 
Lucia's  maid  was  a  great  admirer  of  Miss  Wright.* 
The  kitchen,  as  Dolly  cook  said,  was  quite  a  literary 
emporium,  and  there  was  always  a  greasy  W^averley 
*  Fanny  Wright,  a  "  strong-minded  woman"  of  the  day. 


104  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

lying  on  the  window-sill,  with  which  she  occasionally 
regaled  herself,  while  skinning  an  eel.  The  conse 
quence  of  all  this  was  that  Mr.  Lee's  house  was  at 
sixes  and  sevens.  There  was  neither  master  nor  mis 
tress  ;  the  ceilings  of  the  parlour  and  drawing-room 
were  festooned  with  cobwebs ;  the  curtains  got  the 
jaundice  ;  the  rats  overran  the  kitchen,  and  performed 
feats  worthy  of  rational  beings,  if  you  could  believe 
Dolly ;  and  it  was  impossible  to  sit  down  on  a  chair 
or  sofa,  without  leaving  the  print  of  the  body  in  the 
dust  which  covered  them.  Poor  Mr.  Fairweather, 
who  knew  the  value  of  neatness,  and  prided  himself 
on  his  unspotted,  unsullied  black  coat,  had  often  car 
ried  off  a  tribute  from  the  parlour,  and,  that  morning, 
determined  to  give  Lucia  a  broad  hint.  Accordingly 
he  took  his  forefinger  in  his  hand,  and  wrote  in  the 
dust  that  embellished  the  sofa  four  large  letters,  almost 
six  inches  long,  that  being  put  together  constitute  an 
abominable  word,  than  which  there  is  none  more  hor 
rible  and  unseemly  to  the  ear  and  eye  of  a  good 
housewife.  It  was  the  sight  of  this  that  interrupted 
the  deliciously-perplexing  reverie  of  our  fair  heroine ; 
that  caused  her  to  ring  the  bell  with  such  emphasis ; 
to  call  up  the  men-servants  and  maid-servants ;  to  set 
the  brooms,  brushes,  mops,  and  pope's-heads,  going; 
and,  finally,  to  declare  war  against  rats,  spiders,  dust, 
and  cobwebs,  and  to  turn  the  whole  house  upside  down. 
The  servants  wished  Mr.  Fairweather  in  Guinea,  as 
soon  as  they  traced  the  origin  of  this  tremendous  re 
form  ;  the  cook  talked  of  the  black  skin  and  the  white 
skin  as  being  one  in  the  eye  of  reason ;  the  coach 
man  sighed  forth  the  unutterable  agonies  of  a  life  of 
dependence;  and  the  little  jet-black  waiting-maid 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  105 

talked  elegantly  about  the  rights  of  women.  Juba 
insisted  on  his  massa  calling  out  Mr.  Fairweather ; 
but,  on  this  occasion,  the  old  gentleman  demurred. 

"  Mr.  Fairweather  is  my  best  friend,  you  block 
head." 

"  Guy,  massa !,  dat  any  reason  why  you  should'nt 
blow  he  brain  out  ?  " 

From  that  time  forward,  Mr.  Lee's  house  became 
exemplary  for  its  neatness.  Such  is  the  magic  influ 
ence  of  a  word  to  the  wise !  There  was  a  reform  in 
the  whole  establishment,  the  like  of  which  hath  never 
yet  been  brought  about  in  the  state,  by  any  change  of 
administration,  since  the  establishment  of  the  repub 
lic. 

And  here  I  deem  it  incumbent  on  me  to  offer  to  my 
azure  and  fashionable  readers  something  like  an  apol 
ogy  for  the  falling-off  in  the  tone  of  my  narrative 
which  they  will  not  fail  to  observe  in  this  chapter. 
I  feel  I  ought  to  solicit  their  pardon  for  having  thus 
descended  abruptly  to  such  vulgar  matters  as  house 
keeping;  which  ought  to  be  for  ever  beneath  the 
attention  of  all  true  lovers  of  literature  and  intel 
lectual  development.  It  is  true  that  the  goddess  of 
wisdom  once  disputed  with  Arachne  the  management 
of  the  needle ;  but  this  was  in  times  long  past  and 
never  to  return,  before  the  preternatural  develop 
ment  of  the  mind,  the  invention  of  flounces,  or  the 
supremacy  of  dancing-masters.  I  am  aware,  also,  of 
the  happy  influence  of  a  neat,  well-arranged,  and  well- 
conducted  household,  in  rendering  home  agreeable, 
and  luring  us  from  a  too-zealous  pursuit  of  the  pleas 
ures  of  the  world ;  and  I  am  not  ignorant  how  im 
portant  it  is  for  the  mistress  of  a  family  to  know 


106  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

when  things  are  well  done,  though  it  may  not  be 
necessary  or  becoming  to  do  them  herself.  But  I 
know,  what  is  of  far  more  consequence  than  all  this, 
that  if  I  prose  any  longer  on  such  low  subjects,  the 
young  gentlemen  professors  of  nothing  will  inquire 
into  my  pedigree ;  and  the  azure  angels,  who  preside 
over  the  decisions  of  all  the  gallant,  fashionable  critics, 
will  pronounce  me  a  horrid  bore.  A  bore !  —  better 
were  it  to  be  convicted  of  robbing  a  church,  or  swind 
ling  to  the  amount  of  a  few  millions.  I  should  then 
create  a  great  public  excitement ;  and  rally  round  me, 
not  only  all  the  anti-masons,  but  an  army  of  sympa 
thetic  pettifoggers  besides. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

AN    ADVENTURE,    BEING    THE    ONLY    ONE  IN   ALL    OUR    HISTORY. 

As  the  spring  advanced,  and  the  flowers,  zephyrs, 
and  warbling  birds,  invited  out  into  the  country  for 
air  and  exercise,  our  heroine  was  accustomed  to  ride 
on  horseback,  than  which  there  is  nothing  more  health 
ful,  graceful,  and  becoming  in  a  woman,  provided 
always  she  will  only  ride  like  a  gentlewoman  ;  that  is, 
moderately.  On  the  contrary,  there  is  nothing  which 
gives  me  more  heart-felt  discomposure,  as  a  gallant 
bachelor,  than  to  see  a  woman  galloping  through  the 
streets,  like  a  trooper  —  her  feathers  flying,  her  rib 
bons  streaming  to  the  wind,  her  riding-habit  disor 
dered,  and  herself  bouncing  up  and  down,  as  if  she 
had  a  cork  saddle  under  her.  It  is  not  only  unbecom- 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  107 

ing  and  unfeminine,  but  dangerous,  in  our  crowded 
streets ;  and  nothing  has  preserved  them  from  the 
most  fatal  accidents  but  the  sagacity  of  their  horses, 
which,  doubtless,  knowing  the  precious  burthens  they 
carry,  are  particularly  careful  neither  to  be  frightened 
nor  to  make  a  false  step.  Were  I  to  assume  the 
office  of  mentor  to  the  young  fellows  of  the  day,  I 
would  strenuously  advise  them  to  beware  of  a  woman 
that  always  rides  on  a  full  gallop.  Depend  upon  it, 
she  will  have  her  way  in  everything;  and,  though  she 
may  not  actually  lose  the  bit,  she  will  be  apt  to  take 
it  between  her  teeth  —  which  is  almost  as  bad. 

On  these  occasions  Lucia  was  generally  accom 
panied  by  Miss  Appleby,  Miss  Overend,  or  some  one 
of  her  female  friends,  and  escorted  by  Highfield  and 
Goshawk,  with  the  latter  of  whom  our  heroine  gen 
erally  fell  into  a  tete-a-tete  in  the  course  of  the  ride. 
It  was  the  third  of  May — I  recollect  it  perfectly  — 
when  the  little  party  of  equestrians  set  forth  on  a 
morning  ride,  all  gay  and  hopeful  except  Mr.  Gos 
hawk,  to  whom  the  smiles  of  nature  were  a  disquiet, 
and  the  music  of  spring  a  discord.  He  was  more 
than  commonly  miserable  that  day,  having  observed 
that  Lucia  began  to  sympathize  deeply  in  his  sor 
rows. 

They  worked  their  course  safely  through  the  vari 
ous  perils  of  Broadway,  for  some  distance.  They  met 
a  company  of  militia  with  more  drums  than  privates, 
and  commanded  by  three  brigadier  -  generals ;  they 
encountered  the  great  ox  Columbus  dressed  in  rib 
bons  ;  they  stood  the  brunt  of  kites,  carts,  bakers' 
wagons,  omnibuses,  charcoal-merchants,  orange-men 
and  ash-men,  and  beggar-women.  In  short,  they 


108  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

escaped  unhurt  amid  the  war  of  sights,  the  eternal 
clatter  and  confusion  of  sounds,  the  unexampled  con 
catenation  of  things  animate  and  inanimate,  natural 
and  unnatural.  The  horses,  indeed,  sometimes  pricked 
up  their  ears  and  wondered,  but  displayed  no  decided 
symptoms  of  affright,  until,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it, 
just  as  they  came  to  the  corner  of  Chambers  street, 
a  woman  about  four  feet  high  issued  suddenly  forth 
from  a  shop,  with  a  bonnet  of  such  alarming  dimen 
sions  and  singular  incongruity  of  shape  and  decora 
tion,  that  Lucia's  horse,  who  had  never  been  at  a 
fancy-ball,  could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  wheeled 
suddenly  round  against  Mr.  Goshawk's  steed,  and 
reared.  Mr.  Goshawk  was  partly  in  a  brown-study, 
and  partly  so  miserable  that  he  did  not,  as  he  after 
wards  affirmed,  exactly  recollect  where  he  was,  or 
what  was  the  matter.  At  length  he  cried  out, "  Whoa ! ", 
with  such  a  lofty  and  poetical  fervour  that  he  fright 
ened  the  horse  still  more.  He  now  reared  worse  than 
ever,  and  Lucia  must  have  lost  her  seat  in  a  few 
moments,  when  Highfield,  who  was  a  little  in  advance 
with  the  other  ladies,  being  roused  by  Goshawk's  ex 
clamation,  looked  round,  and  was  at  the  horse's  head, 
on  foot,  in  an  instant.  "  Keep  your  seat  if  you  can," 
said  he,  as  he  seized  the  bridle.  A  desperate  con 
test  now  commenced  between  him  and  the  horse, 
who  continued  rearing  and  plunging,  both  galling 
Highfield's  body  and  limbs  with  his  sharp  hoofs  and 
wrenching  him  violently  about  from  side  to  side. 
Lucia  still  kept  her  seat,  though  almost  insensible  to 
what  was  going  forward.  It  was  a  struggle  between 
an  enraged  unruly  beast  and  a  cool  determined  man. 
Highfield  still  clung  to  the  bridle,  close  to  the  horse's 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  109 

head,  until,  watching  his  opportunity,  he  seized  the 
animal  by  the  nostrils  with  so  firm  a  gripe  as  to  arrest 
his  rearings  for  a  moment,  during  which  he  seemed 
tremblingly  to  own  a  master.  At  the  same  instant  a 
gentleman  assisted  Lucia  to  dismount,  which  she  had 
scarcely  done,  when  the  animal,  as  if  recovered  from 
his  astonishment,  made  one  plunge,  struck  his  hoofs 
into  Highfield's  breast,  threw  him  on  his  back  insensi 
ble,  and  dashed  away  full-speed.  At  the  same  mo 
ment  Mr.  Goshawk,  who  had  been  exceedingly  active 
in  protesting  against  the  inhumanity  of  the  crowd 
which  stood  looking  on  without  being  able  to  render 
any  assistance,  was  likewise  so  overcome  by  his  exer 
tions  that  he  lost  his  memory  for  a  little  while ;  after 
which  he  poured  forth  so  eloquent  a  felicitation  on 
Lucia's  escape  from  a  danger  which,  however  slight, 
had  harrowed  up  his  very  soul,  that  she  remembered 
it  long  after,  when  she  ought  to  have  been  remember 
ing  something  else. 

Highfield  was  brought  to  himself  after  a  while,  and, 
with  the  young  lady,  conveyed  home  in  a  hackney- 
coach.  Goshawk  did  not  accompany  them;  his 
senses  were  so  shattered,  and  his  feelings  had  so  com 
pletely  overpowered  him,  that  he  was  incapable  of 
any  thing  but  the  indulgence  of  high-wrought  senti 
ment. 


110  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    TWO    CUPIDS. 

THE  warm-hearted  Mr.  Lee,  when  he  came  to 
learn  the  particulars  of  the  incident  recorded  in  our 
last  chapter,  hugged  Highfield  in  his  arms,  called 
him  his  son,  and  came  very  near  letting  out  to  his 
daughter  the  secret  of  his  long-cherished  intentions. 
He  then  fell  upon  the  corporation,  that  unfortunate 
pack-horse,  on  whose  back  is  saddled  every  abomina 
tion  which  petulance  conjures  into  existence,  or  the 
itch  for  scribbling  lays  before  the  public. 

"  Confound  the  stupid  blockheads !  ",  exclaimed  he. 
"  They  make  laws  against  flying  kites,  exploding 
crackers,  sticking  up  elephants  over  people's  heads 
for  signs,  and  cumbering  the  streets  with  empty  boxes 
and  barrels ;  and  yet  they  allow  the  women  to  wear 
bonnets  that  frighten  horses  out  of  their  discretion ! 
For  my  part  I  don't  see  the  distinction,  not  I." 

"  But,  my  good  friend,"  said  Mr.  Fairweather,  who 
had  called  in  to  make  his  friendly  inquiries,  "  I  differ 
with  you — I  think  there  is  a  marked  distinction  be 
tween  a  fine  lady  and  an  empty  barrel." 

"  Oh  well,  if  we  differ,  there  is  an  end  of  the  argu 
ment,"  quoth  the  other. 

"  An  end  of  the  argument !  why,  it  is  generally  the 
beginning." 

"  Very  well  —  very  well  —  I  have  no  time  to  argue 
the  question  now." 

Mr.  Fairweather  took  up  his  hat,  and  went  away 
by  himself,  pondering  in  his  mind  what  could  have 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  Ill 

come  over  his  old  friend.  It  was  the  first  time,  since 
he  knew  him,  that  he  had  declined  an  argument. 

Lucia  and  Highfield  met  the  next  morning ;  the 
former  languid  with  her  fright,  the  latter  pale,  and 
stiff  with  his  bruises.  Lucia  was  netting  a  purse. 
She  thanked  him,  in  simple,  unaffected,  heart-felt 
terms  ;  for  it  is  only  affectation  that  deals  in  pompous 
phrases.  The  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  as  she  noticed 
his  wounded  hands,  and  perceived,  by  the  slight  varia 
tions  that  passed  over  his  countenance,  that  every  mo 
tion  was  accompanied  with  acute  pain. 

"  I  shall  never  forget,"  said  she,  "  that  you  saved  my 
life." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Highfield ;  and  these  two  simple 
words  were  all  he  uttered  on  the  subject. 

Lucia  was  mortified  that  he  should  have  missed  so 
good  an  opportunity  of  being  eloquent.  She  had 
been  brought  up  with  people  who  considered  words 
of  more  consequence  than  actions,  and  a  fine  speech 
in  celebration  of  an  exploit  of  heroism  far  superior  to 
the  act  itself.  Lucia  threw  the  purse  carelessly  into 
her  work-basket ;  and  just  then  Mr.  Goshawk  entered, 
to  inquire  how  she  did  after  the  accident.  Then  it 
was  that  our  heroine  was  lifted  off  her  feet  by  a  flow 
of  inspired  eloquence,  which  cast  into  the  shade  the 
manly  simplicity  of  poor  Highfield's  courage  and  self- 
possession.  He  spoke  of  his  horror  at  her  danger  — 
the  overpowering  feelings  that  absolutely  bewildered 
his  mind,  and  prevented  his  thinking  of  any  thing  but 
himself  and  his  intense  sufferings.  He  detailed  his 
waking  thoughts  on  coming  home,  and  his  terrible 
dreams,  in  which  he  saw  her  struggle  with  indescriba 
ble  dangers,  and  performed  acts  in  her  behalf  that  no 


112  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

waking  man  ever  imagined.  In  short,  he  made  him 
self  out  the  hero  of  the  affair,  and,  before  he  had  fin 
ished,  actually  persuaded  Lucia  that  honest  Highfield 
was  but  a  secondary  person  in  the  business. 

"  Behold,"  said  he,  "  how  I  employed  the  melan 
choly,  soul-subduing,  hours  of  the  last  night ;  for,  you 
may  suppose,  I  did  not  close  my  eyes." 

"  Oh,  then  I  take  it  you  dreamed  with  your  eyes 
open,"  said  Highfield,  smiling. 

"  A  man  need  riot  shut  his  eyes  to  dream,  Mr.  High- 
field,"  quoth  Goshawk,  pompously,  at  the  same  time 
presenting  Lucia  with  a  perfumed  sheet  of  paper. 
She  opened  it,  and  read,  with  sparkling  eyes  — 

"  The  wings  of  my  heart  are  far  o'er  the  blue  sea"  — 

"  If  the  wings  of  his  heart  are  far  o'er  the  blue  sea, 
Permit  me  to  ask  where  its  legs  ought  to  be," 

hummed  Highfield,  as  he  sauntered  out  of  the  room. 

"  He  has  no  more  sentiment,  nor  feeling,  nor  enthu 
siasm,  nor  genius,  than  —  than  "  —  Lucia  could  not 
hit  upon  a  comparison  expressive  of  her  indignation. 

"  Alas !  the  more  happy  he!  "  sighed  Fitzgiles  Gos 
hawk.  "  He  knows  not  what  it  is  to  eat  the  bitter 
aloes  of  shattered  hope,  to  dream  of  impossible  attain 
ments,  to  stand  on  tiptoe,  catching  at  incomprehensi 
ble  chimeras  ;  to  place  his  heart  on  what  it  dares  not 
contemplate,  except  at  an  unapproachable  distance 
that  mocks  even  the  imagination  to  despair ;  to  die  of 
disappointments,  in  what,  from  first  to  last,  he  knew 
was  out  of  his  reach ;  to  pass  from  the  sight  of  men, 
the  light  of  the  sun,  and  the  perplexities  of  the  world, 
and  leave  nothing  behind  him  but  an  empty  name. 
Oh !  Lucia,  pity  me,"  cried  he,  taking  her  hand. 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  113 

"  I  do,  indeed  I  do,"  said  Lucia,  overpowered  by 
this  picture  of  mysterious  griefs.  "  I  pity,  and  would 
relieve  you  if  I  knew  how.  Only  tell  me — what  is 
the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  love —  despairingly." 

"  Whom  ?  "  said  Lucia,  with  a  palpitating  heart. 

"  One  throned  in  yon  galaxy  of  stars,  brighter  than 
Venus  and  purer  than  the  milky  way  —  one,  of  whom 
I  wake  only  to  dream,  and  dream  only  to  awake  in 
astonishment  at  my  presumptuous  visions  —  one  so 
far  above  the  sphere  of  my  aspiring  hopes,  that,  like 
the  glorious  sun,  I  only  live  in  the  consuming  rays  of 
her  beauty,  without  daring  to  look  in  the  full  face  of 
her  brightness,  lest  I  should  be  struck  blind." 

"  Why,  this  must  be  a  queen  at  least,"  said  Lucia, 
blushing. 

"  The  queen  of  love  and  beauty,"  replied  Goshawk, 
delighted  at  his  happy  rejoinder.  They  remained 
silent  a  few  moments,  it  being  impossible  to  descend 
from  the  heights  of  sentimental  twaddle  to  the  level 
of  ordinary  matters,  without  stopping  to  take  breath 
by  the  way. 

"  Tell  me,  Miss  Lee,  tell  me  what  is  love,"  said 
Goshawk  at  length,  with  a  languishing  air. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Lucia,  in  confusion. 

"  Shall  I  answer  for  you  ?  ",  said  Highfield,  who  en 
tered  at  that  moment.  Lucia  started  a  little,  and 
Goshawk  looked  rather  foolish. 

"  Love  is  a  fantastic  assemblage  of  the  follies  of 
childhood  and  the  passions  of  age,  —  a  little,  scoun 
drel  hypocrite,  who,  while  rolling  his  hoop  or  chasing 
a  butterfly,  disguises,  under  the  innocent  sports  of  a 
boy,  the  most  selfish  and  dishonourable  intentions. 

8 


114  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

He  is  the  deity  of  professions,  disguises,  affectation, 
and  selfishness  ;  is  never  satisfied  unless  acting  in  op 
position  to  reason,  propriety,  and  duty ;  and  is  pictured 
a  child,  because  he  studies  only  his  own  gratification, 
and  never  keeps  his  promises." 

Goshawk  seemed  not  to  admire  this  sketch,  but, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  he  was  not  so  ready  with  a 
flight  as  usual.  Lucia  took  up  the  defence  of  the 
little  deity. 

"Oh,  what  a  monster  you  have  made  of  him!", 
said  she. 

"  But  there  is  another  and  a  nobler  love,"  resumed 
Highfield,  with  more  enthusiasm  than  he  had  ever  be 
fore  displayed  in  the  presence  of  his  cousin,  —  "  there 
is  another  and  a  nobler  love,  the  divinity  of  rational 
and  virtuous  man  —  a  grown  up,  finished  being,  that 
knows  no  other  wish  than  the  happiness  of  its  object ; 
that  neither  lies,  nor  feigns,  nor  flatters,  nor  deceives ; 
that  is  neither  degraded  by  disappointment,  nor  pre 
sumptuous  with  success  ;  that,  while  it  respects  itself, 
still  pays  a  willing  homage,  and  offers  at  the  feet  of 
its  mistress,  (what  it  never  sacrificed  to  fear  or  favour, 
to  the  claims  of  man,  the  temptations  of  interest,  or 
the  tyranny  of  the  passions),  its  own  free-will  and  its 
power  of  independent  action." 

The  tones  of  Highfield's  voice  were  such  as  I  have 
sometimes,  but  rarely,  heard  in  my  pilgrimage  through 
this  world  of  jarring  discords ;  they  were  those  that 
give  to  nonsense  the  charm  of  music,  and  to  precept 
the  magic  of  persuasion.  He  spoke  with  a  manly 
simplicity,  a  chastened  feeling,  a  firm  and  settled  ear 
nestness,  which  hypocrisy  always  overleaps  and  affect 
ation  only  caricatures.  Even  childhood  comprehends 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  115 

the  difference,  and  the  votaries  of  bad  taste  know  the 
true  from  the  false.  The  exertion  of  speaking,  or,  it 
may  be,  the  glow  of  his  smothered  feelings,  had  ban 
ished  for  a  moment  his  ashy  paleness,  and  brought  a 
fire  into  his  cheek  that  added  to  his  natural  attrac 
tions.  He  stood  with  one  arm  in  a  sling,  partly 
leaning  against  the  mantel-piece,  and  there  was  in  his 
whole  appearance  an  evident  struggle  between  the 
weakness  of  his  body  and  the  strength  of  his  feelings. 

Neither  Mr.  Goshawk  nor  Lucia  made  any  reply. 
The  former  was  cowed  by  the  majesty  of  honest,  un 
affected  manhood,  giving  utterance  to  its  feelings  with 
the  simple  energy  of  deep  conviction  ;  the  latter  felt 
as  she  had  never  felt  while  Mr.  Goshawk  was  pouring 
out  his  sentimental  flummery.  She  knew  she  was 
listening  to  one  in  earnest,  who  was  either  describing 
what  he  felt  at  the  moment,  or  was  capable  of  feel 
ing.  "  He  certainly  must  be  in  love  with  somebody. 
Some  little  red-cheeked,  snub-nosed,  country  damsel, 
I  dare  say ; "  and  she  turned  up  her  pretty  Grecian 
nose  at  the  poor  girl.  The  perplexity  of  guessing  who 
this  somebody  was  occupied  her  some  time,  insomuch 
that  she  entirely  forgot  Mr.  Goshawk's  piece  of  poe 
try,  and  his  beautiful  language. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Highfield,  "  for  coming 
here  to  interrupt  you  and  make  speeches.  Your  father 
requested  me  to  say  he  wishes  to  speak  with  you, 
cousin." 

Goshawk  took  his  leave ;  Lucia  sought  her  father, 
and  Highfield  his  bed ;  for  he  was  really  much  indis 
posed  with  his  bruises. 


116  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

SOUXDIXG    WITHOUT    BOTTOM. 

MR.  LEE  was  a  man  of  great  courage  and  little 
patience.  He  thought  the  heart  of  a  woman  like  one 
of  his  eggs,  that  could  be  boiled  in  a  minute  and  a 
half;  and  took  it  for  granted  Lucia  must  be  deeply 
in  love  with  Highfield  since  the  adventure  of  the 
fashionable  bonnet.  Accordingly  he  determined  to 
sound  her  forthwith,  that  no  time  might  be  lost. 
He  might  as  well  have  plumbed  the  bottomless 
abysses  of  lake  Superior ;  for  the  heart  of  a  city  belle 
in  love  is  as  unfathomable,  if  not  as  pure. 

"  Well,  Lucia,"  said  he,  as  she  entered  his  library, 
"  how  do  you  feel  after  your  fright  ?  " 

"  Oh,  quite  well,  sir." 

"  Hem  —  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much  for  Highfield. 
The  doctor  says  he  has  some  fever,  and  talks  of  bleed 
ing —  the  blockhead  —  why  didn't  he  do  it  before  ?  " 

"  Bleeding !  ",  cried  Lucia,  and  her  heart  beat  a  lit 
tle  ;  "  I  hope  it  will  not  be  necessary." 

"  Hem  —  yes.  Ah !  girl,  you  owe  much  to  that 
excellent  young  man  —  hey?" 

"  I  am  sensible  of  it,  sir,  and  feel  it  at  the  bottom 
of  my  heart." 

"  Do  you  ?  —  do  you,  my  dearest  girl,  at  the  bottom 
of  your  heart  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do,  sir ;  I  shall  never  cease  to  be  grate 
ful,  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  Grateful !  —  pish  —  pooh  —  gratitude ! " 

"  My  father  has  often  told  me  gratitude  was  the 


THE  AZURE  HOSE.  117 

rarest  of  our  feelings,  and  the  most  short-lived;  but  I 
shall  carry  mine  to  my  grave." 

«  Ay  —  yes  —  yes  ;  gratitude  is  a  very  good  thing 
in  its  way;  but  —  but  there  are  so  many  ways  of 
showing  it.  Now  how  will  you  show  yours  —  hey?  " 

"  Why,  I  haven't  studied  my  part  yet,"  said  she, 
smiling ;  "  I  must  trust  to  the  honest  dictates  of  my 
heart,  to  time,  and  circumstance,  to  show  me  the 
way." 

"  Pshaw !  —  time  and  circumstance !  I  believe  the 
d 1  is  in  you  this  morning,  Lucia." 

"  I  believe  the  deuse  is  in  you  this  morning,  father," 
said  Lucia,  smiling ;  "  for  I  can't  understand  you." 

"  Very  well,  very  well ;  but  I  want  to  know  how 
you  will  go  about  showing  your  gratitude  —  hey  ?  " 

"  Why,  father,"  said  Lucia,  "  if  he  is  sad,  I  will 
play  him  merry  tunes :  if  he  is  cheerful,  I  will  laugh 
with  him ;  if  he  is  cross,  I  will  bear  with  him.  I  will 
sympathize  in  his  misfortunes,  rejoice  in  his  happi 
ness,  nurse  him  if  he  should  be  sick ;  if  you  turn  him 
out  of  doors,  as  you  once  threatened,  I  will  certainly 
let  him  in  again;  and  if  he  should  ever  chance  to 
want  (what  I  trust  in  God  he  never  will)  your  favour 
and  protection,  I  will  try  and  be  to  him  your  humble 
representative."  If  Lucia  meant  to  say  more,  she 
was  stopped  by  an  unaccountable  huskiness  in  her 
throat,  that  took  away  her  breath. 

"Ah!  that  will  do  —  that  will  do!"  cried  the  old 
gentleman,  highly  delighted  ;  "  and  so  you  will  love 
him  —  hey,  girl  ?  none  of  your  wishy-washy  grati 
tude —  love  him  with  all  your  heart — hey?" 

"  With  all  my  heart,  and  as  an  only  and  beloved 
brother." 


118  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

"  Brother !,  did  you  say  ?  —  a  fiddle-stick ;  I  —  I  don't 
want  you  to  love  him  as  a  brother,  I  tell  you." 

"  As  a  cousin  then,  sir." 

"  No ;  nor  as  a  cousin,  nor  a  second  cousin,  nor  an 
uncle,  nor  grandfather,  nor  grandmother  either,"  cried 
Mr.  Lee,  in  wrath,  and  gradually  raising  his  voice  till 
he  came  to  the  climax  of  a  roar. 

"  Ah!  is  it  so?"  thought  our  heroine,  as  at  length 
she  began  to  comprehend  the  drift  of  the  impatient  old 
gentleman ;  and  she  drew  the  impenetrable  cloak  of 
hypocrisy  closely  around  her,  at  the  same  time  conjur 
ing  up  to  her  aid  the  guardian  pride  of  female  deli 
cacy,  which  shrinks  from  the  first  avowal  of  love,  and 
more  than  shrinks  from  owning  it  without  the  surety 
of  answering  love. 

"  May  I  go,  sir  ?  "  said  she,  after  a  pause  ;  "  I  prom 
ised  to  walk  out  this  morning  with  my  aunt  and 
Mr.  Goshawk." 

"  Confound  Mr.  Goshawk !  —  and  may  ten  thousand 
of  his  bad  verses  fly  away  with  him  to  Chaos  and  old 
Night,  where  they  came  from  !  " 

"  Well,  father,  then  I  will  make  an  apology  and 
stay  at  home." 

"  No ;  go  where  you  please,  and  do  what  you 
please ;  I  shall  never  be  able  to  make  any  thing  of 
you." 

"  Nothing,  dear  sir,  but  what  I  am  —  your  dutiful 
and  affectionate  daughter ; "  and  she  bowed,  and  left 
Mr.  Lee  to  congratulate  himself  on  the  progress  he 
had  made. 

The  reader  will  doubtless  have  observed  that,  dur 
ing  the  whole  of  the  foregoing  dialogue,  Lucia  spoke 
in  simple,  natural  language,  without  a  single  touch  of 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  119 

azure.  The  reason  is  at  hand.  She  felt  what  she 
was  saying;  and  true  feeling  never  declaims.  What 
it  has  to  say,  it  says  with  a  simple,  brief  directness ; 
as  a  man  who  is  earnest  in  the  race  never  stops  to 
gather  flowers  by  the  way. 

Our  heroine  retired  to  her  chamber,  to  think.  A 
new  futurity  was  opened  before  her;  for,  until  this 
interview  with  her  father,  she  had  never  dreamed  of  his 
wishes  or  intentions  in  favour  of  her  cousin.  The 
truth  is,  her  imagination  was  occupied  with  Goshawk. 
But  now  it  was  necessary  to  determine  on  some  line 
of  conduct  in  her  future  intercourse  with  Highfield.  A 
very  convenient,  proper,  family  match !,  thought  she ; 
I  am  rich,  and  he  poor.  I  have  no  doubt  he  is  very 
much  in  love  with  me ;  for  I  never  heard  of  a  young 
gentleman  that  was  deficient  in  duty  and  affection 
on  such  occasions !  And  then  her  heart  smote  her 
with  a  pang,  for  such  a  thought.  No,  no ;  I  will  say 
that  for  my  cousin,  I  do  believe  he  would  not  marry, 
if  he  did  not  love,  me,  to  gain  my  fortune  or  please 
my  father.  But  then  every-body  will  say  he  only  mar 
ried  me  for  my  money ;  and  the  mortification  of  such 
a  suspicion  would  be  intolerable.  I  dare  say  this 
plan  has  been  in  agitation  ever  since  I  was  born ;  and 
what  a  business  kind  of  business!  —  he  is  to  open 
his  mouth,  and  I  am  to  fall  plump  into  it,  like  a  great 
over-ripe  apple,  without  even  being  shaken  a  little. 
No,  no,  my  dainty  cousin,  that  won't  do.  And  besides, 
what  will  Miss  Appleby  and  all  the  rest  say,  if  I 
throw  myself  away  on  a  man  of  no  literary  reputa 
tion  ;  who  never  figured  in  albums,  or  wrote  verses  on 
Passaic  Falls ;  who  does  nothing  common  like  an  un 
common  man ;  and  who,  though  I  confess  he  acts 


120  THE   AZURE    HOSE. 

sometimes  like  a  hero,  talks  just  like  e  very-body  ? 
"  Ah !,"  said  she,  sighing,  "  I  wish  my  money-bags 
were  in  the  Red  Sea,  and  then  I  could  tell  whether  I 
was  beloved  for  myself  or  them."  This  was  a  very 
foolish  wish  of  our  heroine ;  for,  notwithstanding  her 
beauty,  her  charming  temper,  and  her  natural  good- 
sense,  if  her  money-bags  had  been  in  the  Red  Sea,  ten 
to  one  her  admirers  would  have  gone  there  to  fish  for 
them,  instead  of  attending  to  her.  After  a  vast  many 
pros  and  cons,  Lucia  determined,  in  the  true  spirit  of 
a  woman  with  more  than  one  suitor,  to  play  them 
off  against  each  other;  to  put  to  the  test  the  ardour 
and  stability  of  their  passion,  by  trying  what  the  pa 
tience  of  mortal  man  is  capable  of  enduring.  Mr. 
Goshawk  was  still  paramount  in  her  imagination ; 
though,  since  the  adventure  of  the  ride,  her  feelings 
were  somewhat  enlisted  on  the  side  of  Highfield. 
She  was  satisfied,  in  her  own  mind,  that  the  former 
was  deeply  enamoured  of  her,  else,  why  should  he  be 
so  eloquent  on  all  occasions  on  the  subject  of  hope 
less  affection  ?  With  regard  to  the  other,  she  was 
somewhat,  indeed  altogether,  uncertain  ;  for  High- 
field  had  too  much  pride,  as  well  as  delicacy,  to  be  for 
ever  thrusting  his  feelings  in  the  face  of  the  world. 
I  will  try  him,  thought  she.  If  he  is  only  seeking  me 
for  my  fortune,  there  will  be  no  harm  in  making  him  a 
little  miserable ;  and,  if  he  really  loves  me  for  myself, 
I  can  always  make  him  amends  for  his  sufferings. 
She  had  an  appointment  with  Mr.  Goshawk  for  a 
walk,  and  was  expecting  him  every  moment,  when 
the  servant  came  in  with  an  apology,  that  he  was  so 
unwell  as  not  to  be  able  to  wait  on  her. 

"  Poor  man,"  thought  Lucia,  "  his  mind  is  preying 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  121 

on  his  delicate  frame ;  the  light  is  too  intense  for  the 
lamp  that  contains  it.  What  a  misfortune  it  is  to  be 
born  with  too  much  sensibility !  " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IN   WHICH   THE   HISTORY   IS   PERFECTLY   BECALMED. 

OUR  heroine  remained  in  a  frame  of  mind  requir 
ing  motion.  She  felt  that  sort  of  fidgeting  impatience 
of  repose  which  almost  always  accompanies  the  little 
perplexities  and  uncertainties  of  life.  She  took  out 
the  silk  purse  to  net ;  but  the  thought  struck  her  that 
Highfield  might  be  too  much  elated  if  he  saw  her 
thus  employed.  She  took  up  a  book,  and  though  it 
was  one  of  the  very  latest  fashionable  works,  she 
actually  yawned  over  the  first  chapter.  She  then  as 
a  last  resort  took  up  a  new  garment,  that  had  just 
been  sent  home  by  the  mantua-maker ;  which  fortu 
nately  gave  a  turn  to  her  ideas.  The  sleeves  were 
exactly  the  thing.  She  retired  to  her  mysterious  bou 
doir,  and  arrayed  herself  like  King  Solomon  in  all  his 
glory.  She  put  on  a  pink  hat  with  a  black  velvet  lin 
ing,  and  a  feather  that  swept  the  ground ;  she  put  on 
her  white  satin  cloak  that  hid  her  trim  figure  as  effectu 
ally  as  a  sack ;  and  she  incased  her  pretty  ankles  in 
spatterdashes.  She  arrayed  herself  with  the  foulard 
silk,  the  foulard  damasse,  the  gros  des  Indes,  the  em 
broidered  collar,  cape,  fichu,  alavielle,  and  fiorelle  —  with 
the  blonde  gauze,  and  the  decoupe  gauze,  the  fancy 
ribbons,  trimmings,  &c.,  &c.,  &c.  —  in  short  she  made 


122  THE   AZURE    HOSE. 

herself  one  of  the  most  beautiful  fancy  articles  ever 
imported,  before  she  had  done.  She  then  looked  into 
a  full-length  mirror  and  saw  that  all  was  good  :  for 
her  hat  was  mighty  to  behold,  her  shoulders  broader 
than  those  of  Samson  with  the  gates  of  Gaza  on  his 
back,  and  not  the  African  Venus  herself —  but  hush, 
my  muse,  nor  meddle  too  deeply  with  mysteries  un 
known  to  the  sacred  nine ! 

Highfield  met  her  just  as  she  was  going  forth  into 
the  Aceldama,  the  field  of  blood,  the  Flanders  of  the 
New  World  —  BROADWAY  —  where  more  whiskered 
dandies  have  been  slain  outright  by  stout  broad- 
shouldered  ladies,  and  the  empire  of  more  hearts  con 
tested,  than  in  all  the  universe  besides.  He  stood  in 
speechless  admiration,  for  his  cousin  was  really  so 
beautiful  that  it  was  out  of  the  power  of  milliner  or 
mantua-maker  to  make  her  look  ugly. 

"  Will  you  take  me  with  you  ?  "  said  he, 

Lucia  felt  like  the  ox-eyed  Juno,  in  her  glorious 
paraphernalia. 

The  most  unpropitious  .moment  for  approaching  a 
belle  is  doubtless  when  she  is  full-dressed  for  Broad 
way.  She  treads  on  air ;  she  sees  herself  reflected  in 
the  too-flattering  mirror  of  her  imagination ;  the  rust 
ling  of  silks  whispers  an  alarum  to  her  vanity ;  and 
the  waving  of  feathers  is  the  signal  for  conquering  the 
world. 

"  Will  you  take  me  with  you  ? ",  repeated  High- 
field. 

How  handsome  and  interesting  he  is,  thought  our 
heroine  as  she  looked  at  herself  in  the  glass.  If  he 
only  had  whiskers  he  would  be  irresistible. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  she,  "  the  weather  is  too  keen 


THE   AZUKE   HOSE.  123 

for  you  this  morning;  you  look  pale,  and  don't  seem 
well ;  "  —  and  nature  forced  her  voice  into  a  tuneful 
sympathy. 

"  Oh,  I  never  was  better  in  my  life." 

"  Well,  it  is  not  my  business,"  said  she,  again  as 
suming  the  woman  —  "If  you  choose  to  risk  it, 'tis 
nothing  to  me."  And  the  father  of  hypocrisy  himself 
could  not  have  put  on  a  more  freezing  indifference. 
"  I  am  going  to  call  on  Miss  Appleby ;  my  aunt 
promised  to  meet  me  there." 

"  I'd  rather  go  any  where  else  with  you." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  know  you  don't  like  literary  people." 

"  I  don't  like  pretenders  to  literature." 

"  Then  let  me  go  by  myself,"  said  she  abruptly. 

"No — I'll  go,  and  take  the  mighty  Goshawk  by 
the  beard,  e'en  though  he  were  a  metaphor,  as  saith 
our  azure  aunt." 

This  sally  made  Lucia  smile,  and  restored  her 
good-humour,  which  indeed  was  never  long  away. 
Her  anger  was  never  chronic,  and  so  much  the  better. 
An  unforgiving  woman  is  worse  than  a  man  that  for 
gives  every  body.  Lucia  put  her  arm  within  High- 
field's,  and  they  went  away,  as  gay  as  boblincons  in  a 
clover  meadow.  Lucia  forgot  for  a  moment  her  plan 
of  making  him  jealous ;  but  there  was  a  little  imp  of 
mischief  at  her  elbow  that  soon  put  her  in  mind  of  it 
again. 


124  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MOKE  AZURE. 

HIGHFIELD  and  our  heroine  dropped  in  upon  the 
whole  azure  coterie,  at  Miss  Appleby's,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  Mr.  Fitzgiles  Goshawk,  whose  absence 
afforded  an  excellent  subject  for  declamation ;  espe 
cially  when  Lucia  informed  the  company  he  was  in 
disposed. 

"  Poor  fellow,  his  sensibilities  will  be  the  death  of 
him  at  last,"  cried  Miss  Appleby. 

"  Unfortunate  youth,"  said  Miss  Overend,  "  his 
wretchedness  is  mysteriously  affecting.  By  the  bye, 
can  any  body  tell  what  makes  him  so  unhappy  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say  he  is  suffering  the  pangs  of  disappoint 
ment,"  said  Puddingham. 

"  Disappointment  in  what  ?  ",  said  she,  briskly. 

"  Oh,  why,  you  know  genius  is  always  hoping  im 
possible  things,  and  chasing  the  rainbows  of  imagina 
tion —  ever  anticipating  unreal  joys,  and  reaping  real 
sorrows.  I  knew  a  man  of  genius  once,  a  great  poet, 
who  pined  himself  into  a  decline  because  he  could 
not  get  his  whiskers  to  grow." 

"  La!"  said  Miss  Overend,  "  I  dare  say  that  is  the 
cause  of  Mr.  Goshawk's  interesting  melancholy ;  you 
know  he  has  no  whiskers." 

"  I  dare  say,"  quoth  Paddleford  —  a  sighing,  whin 
ing,  cork-hearted  pretender  to  sentimental  roueism  — 
"  I  dare  say  the  poor  fellow  is  in  love  with  a  married 
woman." 

"  Has  he  been  to  Italy  ?  ",  said  Miss  Overend ;  "  if 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  125 

he  has,  I  could  almost  swear  he  had  fallen  in  love 
with  a  beautiful  nun  he  saw  through  the  grates  of  a 
convent." 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised,"  said  Mrs.  Coates,  "  if  he 
had  committed  murder." 

"  Murder! "  screamed  the  other  ladies. 

"  I  mean  an  innocent,  disinterested,  sentimental 
murder,  committed  in  a  moment  of  irrigation,  with 
out  any  intention  —  what  do  you  think,  nephew?" 

"  I  rather  think  it  must  be  the  whiskers,  as  my 
friend  Puddingham  suggested.  I  feel  myself  in  the 
same  predicament,  and  am  sentimentally  dead,  for 
want  of  a  muzzle  d  la  mode  de  bison." 

Lucia  privately  resolved  that  Master  Highfield 
should  pay  for  making  sport  of  the  hallowed  and 
mysterious  sorrows  of  Mr.  Goshawk.  She  knew,  or 
thought  she  knew,  their  origin.  And  to  have  the  per 
plexities  of  pining,  speechless,  inexpressible  passion, 
associated  with  a  bison's  whiskers  —  it  was  too  bad ! 
And  her  cousin  should  pay  for  it  dearly,  if  he  pos 
sessed  the  least  spark  of  feeling.  Highfield  took  his 
leave  soon  after,  excusing  himself  on  the  score  of 
business.  But  the  truth  was,  he  felt  himself  some 
what  ailing. 

"  Well,  Lucia,"  said  Miss  Appleby,  "  I  suppose  you 
had  a  delightfully  affecting  interview  with  your  cou 
sin,  after  the  affair.  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Lucia. 

"  Nothing  ?  What  a  stupid  man !  Why,  Mr.  Gos 
hawk  talked  of  his  excruciating  feelings  on  the  occa 
sion,  till  he  brought  tears  into  my  eyes.  Oh,  such  a 
beautiful  flow  of  language,  such  powerful  delinea 
tions  of  passion !  I  wish  you  had  heard  him." 


126  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

"  Mr.  Highfield  is  a  very  common-place  man,"  said 
Puddingham,  pompously.  "  You  might  stand  under 
a  gate-way  a  whole  day  in  a  shower,  without  hearing 
him  say  any  thing  remarkable." 

"  What  is  a  chance  act  of  gallantry  and  presence  of 
mind,  compared  with  the  genius  that  immortalizes  it 
in  words  that  burn  and  thoughts  that  freeze  ?  For 
my  part,  give  me  the  man  that  talks  eloquently,"  said 
Mr.  Paddleford. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Overend ;  "  mere  physical  courage 
and  animal  strength  may  do  great  things;  but  to  say 
great  things,  requires  the  aid  of  a  lofty,  inaccessible 
genius,  which  nine  times  in  ten  is  so  immersed  in  its 
owTn  sublime  chrysalis,  that  it  can't  get  out  in  time  to 
do  any  thing  in  a  case  of  emergency." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Coates ;  "  a  great  action  is 
often  frustificated  by  a  splendid  chaotic  congeries  of 
intellectual  vapours,  that  produce  a  deflection  of  the 
mind  from  the  object  before  it." 

Lucia,  though  a  little  affronted  with  Highfield,  was 
too  generous  to  suffer  him  to  be  undervalued  in  this 
manner,  especially  in  his  absence. 

"  And  so,  my  good  friends,"  said  she,  "  you  would 
persuade  me  that  I  am  more  indebted  to  Mr.  Gos 
hawk,  for  his  elegant  description  of  my  danger,  than 
to  my  cousin,  who  rescued  me  from  it.  I  might  have 
been  in  my  grave  by  this  time  but  for  my  cousin." 

"  But  then  what  a  beautiful  elegy  Mr.  Goshawk 
would  have  written,  my  dear.  You  would  have  been 
immortalized.  Only  think  of  that ! "  said  Miss  Ap- 
pleby. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Coates  ;  "  what  is  the  trumpery 
pain  of  anneeheelation  to  the  eternal  immortality  of 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  127 

living  in  immortal  verse  —  of  floating  down  upon  the 
stream  of  oblivion,  into  the  regions  of  never-dying 
brightness ! "  Mrs.  Coates  waxed  more  azure  every 
day. 

"  My  dear  aunt,"  cried  Lucia,  interrupting  the  good 
lady,  who  was  losing  herself  in  a  Dismal  Swamp  of 
grandiloquence  —  "my  dear  aunt,  I  am  aware  of  the 
superiority  of  words  over  deeds,  in  an  age  of  devel 
opment  like  the  present,  and  that  he  who  performs  a 
great  action  is  but  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  the 
man  of  genius  who  celebrates  it  in  never-dying  verse. 
I  know  too  that  it  is  mere  selfishness  on  our  part,  to 
feel  grateful  for  an  action  done  in  our  own  behalf,  in 
stinctively  perhaps,  and  without  one  single  good  feel 
ing  on  the  part  of  him  who  performs  it ;  still  there  is 
something  in  the  gift  of  life  that  seems  to  deserve  at 
least  our  gratitude."  This  was  the  most  azure  speech 
our  heroine  had  made  since  her  accident. 

"The  gift  of  life!"  cried  Paddleford ;  —  « what  is 
life,  that  we  should  be  grateful  for  it  ?  A  scene  of 
disappointment  without  hope,  and  hope  without  dis 
appointment  ;  a  chapter,  whose  beginning  is  tears, 
whose  last  verse  is  written  in  blood ;  a  mirror,  which 
presents  to  us  every  day  a  new  wretch  in  the  same 
person  ;  a  spectral  shadow,  ever  changing,  yet  still  the 
same ;  a  long  lane,  whose  windings  end  where  they 
began,  and  begin  where  they  end  ;  a  rope  twisted  with 
our  heart-strings,  embalmed  in  our  tears,  and  having 
at  one  end  a  slip-noose  with  which  all  mankind  are  at 
last  tucked  up ! " 

"  Oh ! "  groaned  the  whole  azure  coterie,  horror- 
stricken  at  this  soul-harrowing  picture. 

«  What  language ! " 


128  THE   AZURE    HOSE. 

"What  sentiment!" 

"What  feeling!" 

"  What  soul-subjewing  retrospections ! "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Coates.  "  What  a  happy  devilopement  of 
mind!" 

Lucia  was  overawed  and  silenced  by  the  eloquence 
of  Paddleford  and  the  suffrages  of  all  the  company. 
She  became  doubtful,  to  say  the  least,  as  to  the  pro 
priety  of  feeling  gratitude  for  such  a  worthless  gift  as 
that  of  life,  and  relapsed  into  a  decided  preference  of 
the  gift  of  speech  over  the  capacity  for  action.  She 
looked  on  the  great  Paddleford  as  a  most  sublime 
mortal ;  for  such  indeed  is  the  intrinsic  dignity  of  that 
courage  which  defies  death  in  a  good  cause,  that  even 
the  affectation  of  contempt  of  life  imposes  a  feeling 
of  respect  upon  the  inexperienced.  Lucia  never 
dreamed  that  Paddleford  came  near  breaking  his 
neck  a  few  nights  before,  by  jumping  out  of  a  second- 
story  window  on  a  false  alarm  of  fire ;  or  that,  while 
professing  scorn  of  death,  he  never  met  a  funeral  or 
heard  a  bell  tolling,  without  a  fit  of  the  blue  devils. 

"  What  a  beautiful  dress  you've  got ! "  said  Miss 
Overend  to  Lucia. 

The  sublime  contempt  of  this  life  now  suddenly 
gave  place  to  an  admiration  of  the  things  of  this  life. 
The  whole  party  gathered  round  our  heroine ;  and, 
"  Where  did  you  get  this  ?  ",  and,  "  La  !  how  cheap  !  ", 
and  dissertations  on  the  relative  excellence  of  gros  de 
Naples,  gros  des  Indes,  cotepaly,  foulard  damasse, 
and  Palmerienne,  gradually  restored  them  to  a  proper 
feeling  of  resignation  to  the  evils  of  this  world. 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  129 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

A   VISIT,   AND    ITS    CONSEQUENCES. 

WHEN  Lucia  came  home,  she  found  Highfield  had 
been  obliged  to  lie  down ;  and  learned,  from  Mr.  Lee, 
that  the  doctor  was  under  great  apprehension  that  he 
had  received  some  serious  injury  internally,  from  the 
violence  of  his  exertions  or  the  kicks  of  the  horse,  in 
the  adventure  of  the  ride. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  our  heroine,  and  her 
heart  echoed  the  sentiment. 

The  old  gentleman  was  of  that  order  of  human 
beings  whom  sorrow  always  makes  angry  and  fretful, 
instead  of  gentle  and  submissive.  He  had  a  most 
confirmed  and  obstinate  impatience  of  grief.  He  was 
angry  with  Highfield  for  being  ill ;  he  was  angry  with 
the  doctor  for  not  having  foreseen  he  would  be  ill; 
and  he  was  enraged  with  Mr.  Fairweather,  because 
he  at  first  made  light  of  the  matter,  and  then,  to 
please  his  friend,  hinted  about  a  rapid  decline.  Now, 
he  could  not  scold  Highfield  for  being  ill;  nor  the 
doctor,  for  he  was  absent ;  nor  Mr.  Fairweather,  be 
cause  he  was  not  present :  so  he  set  to  work,  and 
scolded  Lucia.  Nine  times  out  of  ten  we  are  not 
angry  at  the  thing  we  pretend  to  be  affronted  with ; 
we  attack  the  substance  under  cover  of  the  shadow. 

"  Oh  yes  !  ",  said  he  in  reply  to  Lucia's  gentle  yet 
sincere  expression  of  sorrow,  —  "  Oh  yes  !  you  are 
very  sorry,  I  dare  say.  You  take  him  into  a  cold 
north-east  wind ;  you  drag  him  about  to  milliners' 
shops,  from  one  end  of  the  town  to  the  other ;  and 

9 


130  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

then  you  are  very  sorry  he  is  sick,  when  you  yourself 
have  made  him  so." 

"  Dear  father,  how  cross  you  are  to  day !  I  am 
sure  I  did  not  take  him  out.  I  wanted  him  to  stay  at 
home  ;  but  he  said  he  was  perfectly  well,  and  would 
go  with  me.  I  am  sure  I  couldn't  help  his  going." 

"  Not  help  his  going  !  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  how  could  I  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  might  have  knocked  the  puppy  down." 

Lucia  made  it  a  point  never  to  laugh  at  her  father; 
but  it  must  be  owned  he  sometimes  put  her  to  hard 
trials. 

"  If  my  father  had  taught  me  to  box,  instead  of  to 
play  the  piano,  I  might  have  made  the  attempt,"  said 
she,  smiling. 

"  Very  well,  very  well ;  you  have  made  him  sick, 
now  try  if  you  can't  cure  him.  Go  and  make  him 
some  barley-broth." 

"  I  ?  —  why,  my  dear  father,  I  don't  know  how  to 
make  barley-broth." 

"  Well  then,  go  and  make  him  some  caudle." 

Lucia  had  never  heard  of  caudle,  except  in  associ 
ation  with  certain  matters,  and  blushed  like  a  rose. 

"  But  I  don't  know  how  to  make  caudle,  any  more 
than  barley-broth." 

"  Ay,  yes ;  women  know  nothing  worth  knowing, 
nowadays.  They  can  dance,  and  play  the  harp,  and 
criticise  books,  and  talk  about  what  they  don't  under 
stand  ;  but  if  you  want  them  to  do  a  little  thing  for 
the  comfort  of  a  man's  life,  or  the  assuaging  of  his 
pains,  oh !  then  it  is,  *  My  dear  sir,  I  don't  know  how 
to  do  it.'  I  wish  I  had  sent  you  to  a  pastry-cook's, 
instead  of  a  boarding-school.  I  dare  say,  if  it  was 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  131 

Mr.  Goshawk,  you  could  talk  him  well  directly.     Go 
in  then,  and  talk  to  your  cousin  a  little." 

"  My  dear  fat  her,  you  know  "  -  and  she  stopped 
short,  in  a  nutter. 

"  What,  you  won't  go  and  see  the  youth  who  is 
lying  perhaps  on  his  death-bed  of  wounds  received  in 
your  service  ?  " 

"  The  customs  of  society,  sir," 

"  Ah !  the  customs  of  society  —  there  is  another 
wooden  god  to  bow  down  to  !  You  can  twine  your 
arms  in  a  waltz  with  some  bewhiskered  foreign 
puppy ;  you  can  go  to  a  masquerade,  or  mix  in  mid 
night  revels,  with  a  thousand  promiscuous  sweepings 
of  the  universe,  and  yet  —  oh,  the  customs  of  the 
world !  they  make  it  a  crime  to  visit  the  sick  in  their 
melancholy  chambers,  and  pronounce  it  ungenteel  to 
know  how  to  administer  relief  to  their  sufferings  !  " 

"  Dear  father,  I  would  do  any  thing  for  the  relief  of 
my  cousin ;  but " 

"  Oh,  ay —  any  thing.  You  can't  do  what  the  cus 
toms  of  society  permit,  and  you  won't  do  what  they 
do  not  sanction.  And  yet  it  was  but  the  other  day 
you  made  such  a  fine  speech :  —  'If  he  is  sad,  I  will 
play  him  merry  tunes ;  I  will  sympathize  in  his  sor 
rows,  and  rejoice  in  his  happiness ;  I  will  nurse  him 
when  he  is  sick ;  and  if,  as  you  once  threatened,  you 
should  turn  him  out  of  doors,  I  will  certainly  let  him 
in  again.' ':  And  the  old  gentleman  caricatured  her 
tone  and  manner  without  mercy.  "  You  know  every 
thing  but  what  you  ought  to  know,"  continued  he, 
reproachfully. 

"  There  is  at  least  one  thing  I  do  know,"  replied 
the  daughter,  — "  that  it  is  my  duty  to  obey  the 


132  THE    AZURE    HOSE. 

wishes  of  my  father,  when  no  positive  duty  forbids  it. 
I  will  go  with  you,  sir."  And  together  they  went 
into  the  sick  man's  room. 

My  friend,  Mr.  Lee  —  for  there  once  lived  such  a 
man,  and  he  was  my  friend  —  my  friend,  Mr.  Lee, 
knew  no  more  how  to  manage  a  love-affair  than  his 
daughter  did  of  the  manufacturing  of  caudle.  Had 
the  romance  of  Highfield  and  Lucia  been  in  the  best 
possible  progress,  he  would  have  gone  nigh  to  throw 
it  back  a  hundred  years.  The  old  gentleman  had  yet 
to  learn,  that  to  make  a  woman  do  a  thing  against 
her  will  is  like  shoving  a  boat  against  a  strong  cur 
rent  ;  she  will  move  a  foot  or  two,  slowly,  while  the 
impulse  lasts,  and  come  back  like  a  race-horse,  a  hun 
dred  yards  beyond  the  starting-pole.  And  yet  he 
ought  to  have  known  it ;  for  his  wife  had  verified  its 
truth  often  enough  to  impress  it  on  his  memory. 

Lucia  entered  the  chamber  of  the  invalid  somewhat 
against  her  will,  and  consequently  but  little  disposed 
to  sympathize  with  him.  Indeed  she  felt  extremely 
awkward  ;  and  this  was  another  reason  why  she  was 
not  in  the  best  possible  humour.  Not  that  she  wanted 
a  proper  feeling  of  the  benefit  conferred  by  her  cousin, 
but,  the  truth  is,  the  indiscreet  disclosure  the  old  gen 
tleman  had  made  of  his  intentions  caused  her  to 
shrink  from  an  act  which  might  be  considered  as 
amounting  to  a  sanction  of  his  wishes  on  her  part. 
Add  to  this,  I  believe  if  the  truth  were  known,  she 
felt  some  little  apprehension  that  Mr.  Goshawk  might 
not  approve  of  the  procedure. 

The  conduct  of  Highfield  contributed  to  render  her 
still  more  ungracious.  He  was  no  knight-errant,  yet 
the  sight  of  our  heroine  on  this  occasion  threw  him 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  133 

into  something  of  a  paroxysm,  not  unworthy  of  Am- 
adis  de  Gaul.  He  ascribed  the  visit  in  the  first  place 
to  her  own  free-will,  and  augured  the  most  favourable 
results  from  the  sympathy  which  a  sight  of  his  weak 
ness  would  create.  He  was  wrong  in  both  cases ;  for, 
in  love-matters,  the  imagination  is  every  thing,  and 
seeing  is  not  believing.  But  his  great  error  was 
in  discovering  so  much  gratitude  for  the  visit  that 
Lucia  became  alarmed  at  her  own  condescension,  and 
determined  to  retrieve  her  error  by  behaving  as  ungra 
ciously  as  her  conscience  would  permit.  In  pursu 
ance  of  this  truly  womanly  resolution,  she  conducted 
herself  with  a  most  admirable  indifference,  insomuch 
that  the  good  gentleman,  her  father,  who  had  hardly 
patience  to  wait  the  boiling  of  an  egg,  became  ex 
ceedingly  restive.  He  gave  his  daughter  divers  signi 
ficant  looks  ;  favoured  her  with  abundance  of  frowns  ; 
and  held  up  his  finger  from  time  to  time  so  emphati 
cally,  that  Highfield  soon  comprehended  the  whole 
affair.  He  perceived  that  Lucia  had  come  unwill 
ingly,  and  from  that  moment  felt  nothing  but  morti 
fication  at  her  having  come  at  all.  The  whole  affair 
ended  in  making  Lucia  dissatisfied  with  herself; 
Highfield  worse  than  before ;  and  Mr.  Lightfoot  Lee 
most  intolerably  angry.  So  much  for  obliging  a 
young  lady  to  do  what  she  has  no  inclination  for. 
Our  heroine,  having  paid  a  short  visit,  retired,  leaving 
the  uncle  and  nephew  together. 

The  old  gentleman  sat  with  his  nether  lip  petu 
lantly  protruded  over  the  upper  one,  his  eyebrows 
raised,  and  his  forehead  wrinkled.  The  young  man 
lay  on  his  bed,  supported  by  pillows. 

"  My  dear  uncle,"  said  he,  "  why  did  you  bring  my 
cousin  here  against  her  will  ?  " 


134  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

"'Sblood  sir,"  cried  the  other  in  a  fury — "I  sup 
pose  you  mean  to  cut  my  throat  for  trying  to  do  you 
a  favour." 

"  I  am  sensible  of  your  kindness,  but,  my  dear  sir, 
you  don't  go  the  right  way  to  work  to  serve  me." 

"  O  no,  not  I,  truly ;  I  am  an  old  blockhead  ;  I  am 
always  in  the  wrong;  I  do  nothing  but  mischief,  and 
merit  nothing  but  reproaches  and  ingratitude!" 

"  Ah  !  sir,  if  you  only  knew  my  heart !  " 

"  Plague  on  your  heart,  I  don't  believe  you  have 
any,  with  your  infernal  coolness  and  patience.  When 
I  fell  in  love,  I  mounted  my  horse,  and  rode  one  night 
forty  miles  to  visit  your  aunt;  came  to  an  under 
standing  the  very  first  visit ;  and  went  home  irrevo 
cably  engaged.  I  hate  suspense ;  I  always  did  hate 
it,  and  always  shall.  But  you,  sir — dam'me,  you 
sir !,  you  and  Lucia  will  make  a  hard  frost  between 
you.  She  is  all  affectation,  and  you  all  patience.  A 
patient  lover — pooh!" 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,  why  don't  you  let  matters  take 
their  course,  as  you  promised  ?  " 

"  O  certainly,  sir,  certainly  —  wait  patiently,  until 
I  see  my  daughter  run  away  with  Mr.  Fitzgiles  Gos 
hawk,  because  he  has  such  a  flow  of  words  and  uses 
such  beautiful  language ;  or  till  I  sink  under  the 
weight  of  fourscore,  and  Lucia  becomes  a  pedantic 
old  maid.  I  dare  say  if  I  only  have  patience  and  live 
to  the  age  of  the  patriarchs,  I  may  have  the  particu 
lar  satisfaction  of  seeing  either  the  world  or  your  love- 
affair  come  to  an  end." 

"  But,  my  dear  uncle  —  " 

"  Yes,  yes  —  I  am  an  old  blockhead,  that's  certain. 
JTis  true,  I  was  educated  at  the  university;  travelled 


THE    AZURE   HOSE.  135 

over  half  Europe ;  have  been  a  justice  of  the  peace ; 
a  common-councilman ;  secretary  to  a  literary  soci 
ety  ;  a  judge  of  a  race-course ;  and  chairman  of  a 
committee  in  Congress.  I  am  not  quite  threescore, 
to  be  sure ;  but  I  have  had  some  little  experience  — 
know  a  B  from  a  bull's  foot,  and  a  hawk  from  a 
handsaw.  But  I  am  an  old  blockhead  for  all  that, 
and  must  go  to  school  to  a  conceited  graduate  from  a 
country  college,  and  a  sage  young  lady  just  from  the 
boarding-school;  yes,  yes,  yes —  "  and  the  good  gen 
tleman  walked  about  the  room  with  his  head  down 
and  hands  behind  him. 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  entreat  you  to  spare  me." 

"  I  wonder,"  continued  Mr.  Lee,  communing  with 
himself,  "  I  wonder  how  people  managed  to  live,  sixty 
years  ago.  No  steamboats,  nor  spinning-jennies,  nor 
railroads,  nor  canals,  nor  anthracite  coal,  nor  houses 
of  refuge,  nor  societies  for  making  the  world  perfect 
in  every  thing,  nor  silver  forks,  nor  self-sharpening 
pencils,  nor  metallic  corn-cutters,  nor  japan  blacking, 
nor  gros  de  Naples,  nor  gros  des  Indes,  nor  cotepaly, 
nor  any  of  the  indispensable  requisites  to  a  comforta 
ble  existence.  What  a  set  of  miserable  sinners  they 
must  have  been !  I  don't  wonder,  for  my  part,  that 
children  govern  their  parents,  and  the  young  the  old  ; 
seeing  the  world  is  so  much  wiser,  better,  and  happier, 
than  it  was,  sixty  years  ago."  Thus  the  good  gentle 
man  ran  on,  as  was  his  custom,  until  he  finally  lost 
sight  of  his  subject  and  cooled  in  the  pursuit. 

"  Well,  my  dear  uncle,  if  you  wont  listen  to  me  —  " 

"  But  I  will  listen ;  who  told  you,  sir,  I  wouldn't 
listen  —  I  suppose  you  want  me  to  do  nothing  else  — 
hey  ?  " 


136  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you,  sir,  that,  I  see  plainly,  myself 
and  my  concerns  are  destined  to  give  you  great  and 
I  fear  unavailing  trouble,  and  have  come  to  a  resolu 
tion  —  " 

"  Well,  sir,  and  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  intend,  as  soon  as  I  am  well  enough,  to  leave 
you,  my  dear  uncle." 

"  Well,  sir  —  " 

"  I  have  been  too  long  a  dependant  on  your  kind 
ness,  and  cannot  but  perceive  my  remaining  here  will 
be  a  source  of  contention  between  you  and  my 
cousin.  I  fear  I  shall  never  be  able  to  touch  her 
heart;  and  without  the  free,  uninfluenced  gift  of  her 
affections,  I  would  not  receive  her  as  my  wife,  were 
she  descended  from  heaven  and  with  an  angel's 
dower." 

"  Well,  sir  ?,"  said  Mr.  Lee,  in  breathless  impatience 
and  anger. 

"  I  have  little  more  to  say,  uncle.  When  I  am  well 
enough,  I  will  endeavour  to  do  justice  to  my  feelings 
of  gratitude  for  all  that  I  owe  you." 

"  And  so  —  and  so,  sir,  you  mean  to  leave  me,  now 
that  you  have  got  out  of  the  egg-shell,  and  can  walk 
alone.  If  you  do,  by  all  that  is  sacred,  I'll  disinherit 
you." 

"  I  have  no  claim  to  your  estate,  sir.  I  would  con 
sent  to  share  it  with  my  cousin,  did  her  heart  go  with 
your  bounty ;  but  I  will  starve  sooner  than  rob  her  of 
a  shilling." 

"  Will  nothing  move  you  to  stay  with  me  till  I  am 
dead  ?  ",  said  Mr.  Lee,  overpowered  by  his  feelings. 

"  One  thing,  and  one  only,  sir.  I  will  remain  with 
you  and  be  to  you  as  a  son,  if  you  will  promise  on 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  137 

your  honour  that  my  cousin  shall  neither  be  worried, 
nor  urged,  nor  entreated  in  any  way  against  her  incli 
nations  ;  and  that  I  myself  may  be  left  to  the  direc 
tion  of  my  own  sense  of  honour  and  propriety  in  this 
business.  To  make  my  cousin  uneasy  is  not  the  way 
to  win  her  heart,  and,  even  if  it  were,  it  is  not  the  mode 
to  which  I  would  descend." 

"  Well  then,  I  do  promise  ;  I  pledge  my  word  that 
you  shall  do  as  you  please  in  this  affair,  and  that 
Lucia  shall  have  her  own  way  in  every  thing  but  in 
marrying  that  puppy  sentimental,  master  Fitzgiles 
Goshawk." 

"  And  I  pledge  myself,  that,  living  or  dying,  so  far 
as  my  actions  are  concerned,  you  shall  never  have 
reason  to  repent  your  kindness  to  me." 

Here  the  conversation  ended.  Mr.  Lee  retired,  and 
Highfield  stretched  himself  on  his  bed,  overcome  with 
a  weakness  and  perplexity  of  heart. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MUTUAL    MISTAKES    AND    DECEPTIONS.  —  MR.    LEE     MEDITATES     A     MOST 
DA  KING   EXPLOIT. 

THE  exertion  and  emotions  of  Highfield  in  the  pre 
ceding  conversation,  concurring  with  his  pain  and 
weakness  of  body,  brought  on  a  dangerous  fever, 
which  confined  him  several  weeks.  During  this  period 
Lucia  entirely  intermitted  her  intercourse  with  the 
azure  coterie,  and  saw  Mr.  Goshawk  but  once,  when 
he  came  unshaven,  with  dishevelled  locks,  neglected 


138  THE   AZURE    HOSE. 

costume,  and  various  other  insignia  of  a  despairing 
lover.  He  talked  of  himself,  his  depression  of  mind, 
his  distress  at  the  danger  in  which  he  saw  her  at  the 

o 

time  her  horse  was  rearing  and  plunging.  But  Lucia 
just  now  was  deeply  touched  with  the  danger  of  High- 
field,  and  remembered  that,  while  Goshawk  had  only 
felt,  the  other  was  suffering  for  his  exertions  to  pre 
serve  her  life.  True  feeling  and  real  sorrows  open  our 
eyes  to  the  full  detection  of  those  that  are  the  spuri 
ous  product  of  ennui  or  affectation,  and  enable  us  to 
see  distinctly  into  the  hypocrisy  of  others'  hearts,  by 
putting  them  to  the  test  of  a  comparison  with  our 
own.  What  Lucia  now  felt  satisfied  her  that  her 
former  feelings  were  rather  reflected  from  the  society 
to  which  she  was  accustomed,  and  the  false  colouring 
in  which  their  false  sentiment  was  enveloped,  than 
from  her  own  heart.  The  subjection  of  her  excellent 
understanding  to  a  long  habit  of  associating  with 
caricatures  of  literary  taste,  and  mawkish  imitations 
of  genius  and  sensibility,  was  gradually  undermined 
by  an  estrangement  of  some  weeks,  and  a  communion 
with  those  who  felt  as  nature  dictated,  and  expressed 
their  feelings  in  the  language  of  truth. 

In  addition  to  this,  we  hold  it  to  be  utterly  impos 
sible  for  any  woman  that  ever  claimed  descent  from 
simple,  tender-hearted  mother  Eve,  to  behold  a  man 
suffering  pain  and  sickness,  without  feeling  that  sym 
pathy  which  renders  woman,  savage  and  civilized, 
wherever  and  in  whatever  circumstances  she  may  be 
found,  the  assuager  of  sorrows  —  the  nurse  of  calami 
ty  —  the  angel  spirit  that  watches  over  the  dying  and 
the  dead.  If  perchance  it  happen  that  this  heaven- 
descended  sympathy  with  suffering  is  coupled  with  a 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  139 

feeling  of  gratitude  for  some  great  benefit,  and  a  con 
sciousness  that  this  suffering  is  in  consequence  of  ex 
ertions  made  in  her  behalf,  we  confess  we  can  hardly 
believe  it  possible  that  this  natural  tenderness  of  heart, 
and  this  feeling  of  gratitude,  should  not  in  the  end 
combine  to  produce  a  still  stronger  sentiment,  more 
especially  in  favour  of  a  young,  handsome,  and  amia 
ble  man.  We  should  for  these  reasons  be  inclined  to 
discard  our  heroine  entirely  and  for  ever  from  our 
good  graces,  had  not  the  present  crisis  of  affairs 
awakened  her  better  self,  and  recalled  her  in  some 
degree  to  the-  destiny  for  which  nature  had  intended 
her. 

It  was  more  than  four  weeks  before  Highfield  was 
decidedly  out  of  danger.  During  this  period  he  had 
endured  much,  and  nature  occasionally  took  refuge  in 
that  blessed  delirium  which,  however  painful  to  the 
observer,  is  a  heaven  of  oblivion  to  the  weary  sufferer. 
It  was  at  these  times,  when  he  knew  nobody,  and 
could  interpret  nothing  which  he  saw  or  heard,  that 
the  pride  and  delicacy  of  Lucia  would  yield  to  the 
impulses  of  her  heart,  and  she  would  watch  for  hours 
at  his  bedside,  moisten  his  parched  lips,  smooth  his 
pillow,  dispose  his  aching  head  in  easy  positions  — 
and  once,  only  once,  she  kissed  his  damp  cold  fore 
head.  There  was  nothing  violent  in  his  delirium  ;  his 
wanderings  were  low  and  disjointed  murmurs,  con 
nected,  as  far  as  they  could  be  understood,  with  recol 
lections  of  his  cousin.  Sometimes  he  would  pause, 
and  fix  his  unsteady  wandering  eyes  upon  her,  as  if 
some  remote  consciousness  crossed  his  mind ;  but  it 
was  only  a  momentary  effort  of  memory,  and  died 
away  in  the  wild  wanderings  of  a  diseased  imagina 
tion. 


140  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

The  crisis  of  the  fever  passed  over,  leaving  High- 
field  a  wreck,  just  without  the  gates  of  death.  But 
youth  and  a  good  constitution  at  length  triumphed, 
and  he  became  convalescent.  As  he  recovered  pos 
session  of  his  reason,  Lucia  discontinued  her  watch- 
ings,  and  confined  herself  within  the  limits  of  ordi 
nary  attentions.  Highfield  sometimes  thought  of  a 
confused  dream,  a  vision  of  a  distempered  mind, 
representing  an  angel  hanging  over  his  couch  and 
administering  to  his  wants;  but  the  impression  grad 
ually  passed  away,  and  lie  remained  ignorant  of  the 
truth  until  lone:  afterwards.  Mr.  Lee  had  been  in  a 

O 

passion  during  the  whole  period  of  Highfield's  danger, 
and  the  doctor  had  no  peace,  day  or  night.  If  he 
talked  about  bleeding  or  a  warm  bath,  Mr.  Lee  called 
him  a  Sangrado ;  if  he  suggested  any  of  the  ordinary 
remedies,  he  was  an  empiric ;  and  if  he  thought  of 
any  experiment,  he  was  a  quack.  In  short,  the  poor 
man  led  a  terrible  life  until  his  patient  got  better, 
when  the  old  gentleman  grew  into  vast  good-humour, 
and  nothing  could  equal  his  conviction  of  the  doctor's 
skill.  Juba,  indeed,  insisted  that  he  himself  had  a 
principal  hand  in  the  cure,  by  concocting  an  African 
obeah  of  the  most  sovereign  virtue ;  but  his  master 
only  called  him  a  blockhead,  and  sent  him  about  his 
business  ;  whereupon  old  Ebony  went  his  way,  mut 
tering  something  that  sounded  not  unlike  "  calling 
massa  out." 

It  was  now  the  beginning  of  June,  when  the  infa 
mous  easterly  winds,  that  spoil  the  genial  breath  of 
spring  with  chilling  vapours,  generally  give  place  to 
the  southern  airs  of  summer.  Lucia  and  Highfield 
had  resumed  their  intercourse,  but  with  no  great  ap- 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  141 

pearance  of  cordiality.  Highfield  remained  ignorant 
of  the  cares  she  had  lavished  and  the  tears  she  had 
shed  while  he  was  unconscious  of  every  thing,  and 
Lucia,  fearful  that  he  might  possibly  know  it,  shrunk 
with  a  timid  consciousness  from  all  appearance  or 
indication  of  that  deep  feeling  which  late  events  had 
wakened  in  her  bosom.  He  resolved,  in  the  recesses 
of  his  mind,  to  refrain  in  future  from  every  atten 
tion  to  his  cousin,  but  such  as  their  relationship  de 
manded;  and  she  secretly  determined  to  hide  the 
strong  preference  she  now  felt,  under  the  impenetra 
ble  mask  of  cool  indifference.  I  will  not,  said  High- 
field,  mentally — I  will  not  appeal  to  her  gratitude 
or  pity,  for  what  her  love  denies.  I,  thought  Lucia, 
scorn  to  repay  with  love,  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  one 
who  seems  to  think  that  alone  sufficient.  Neither  of 
them  suspected  the  other's  feelings,  and  pride  stepped 
in  to  complete  their  blindness. 

The  consequence  was,  that,  finding  each  other's 
society  irksome  and  unsatisfactory,  they  avoided  all 
intercourse  but  such  as  was  indispensable.  Highfield 
sought  every  opportunity  of  being  from  home ;  and 
Lucia  was  more  than  ever  in  the  company  of  Mr. 
Goshawk,  who  became  every  day  more  miserable  and 
incomprehensible.  He  talked  of  smothered  feelings 
in  a  voice  of  thunder,  and  sighed  with  such  emphasis, 
that  he  on  one  occasion  dislodged  a  geranium  pot 
from  a  front  window,  and  came  very  near  breaking 
the  head  of  a  little  chimney-sweep  who  was  sunning 
himself  below.  But  Lucia,  though  she  encouraged 
his  affectations,  from  an  indefinite  desire  to  be  re 
venged  on  Highfield  for  she  knew  not  what,  began  to 
sicken  a  little  at  his  superlative  azure.  Of  late  she 


142  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

had  become  too  well  acquainted  with  the  substance 
of  feeling  and  passion  to  be  deluded  by  the  shadow, 
and  sometimes,  amid  the  depression  of  her  mind,  felt 
a  great  inclination  to  laugh  at  the  mighty  Goshawk 
and  his  mighty  verbosity.  This  heartless  intimacy 
contributed  still  more  to  estrange  Highfield  from 
home  and  her  society ;  for,  unacquainted  as  he  was 
with  her  real  feelings,  he  believed  in  his  heart  that  his 
cousin  had  a  decided  prepossession  for  the  empty 
sentimentalist.  He  had  never  altogether  recovered 
his  strength  or  his  colour ;  there  was  a  paleness  in  his 
face,  a  lassitude  about  his  frame,  and  a  slow  languor 
of  motion,  which  gave  to  his  appearance  a  touching 
interest;  and  Lucia,  as  she  sometimes  watched  him 
without  being  seen,  felt  the  tears  on  her  eyelashes,  as 
she  noticed  the  wreck  of  his  youth,  and  recalled  to 
mind  to  what  it  was  owing.  Thus  then  matters 
stood  :  —  Highfield  was  only  waiting  the  return  of  his 
strength,  to  make  a  final  effort  to  disengage  himself 
from  the  family  and  pursue  his  fortune ;  Goshawk 
was  daily  meditating  whether  he  should  sell  the  old 
gentleman's  lands  and  buy  stock,  when  he  married 
Lucia  and  succeeded  to  the  estate ;  and  Lucia  was 
daily  losing  her  vivacity,  in  the  desperate  attempt  to 
be  gay. 

But  what  became  of  Mr.  Lightfoot  Lee  all  this 
while  ?  The  old  gentleman  was  in  the  finest  quan 
dary  imaginable.  He  grew  so  impatient  there  was  no 
living  with  him,  and  quarrelled  with  Juba  forty  times 
a  day.  There  was  nobody  else  he  could  quarrel 
with.  Mrs.  Coates  had  gone  to  pay  a  visit  to  Hold 
Hingland,  and  renew  her  acquaintance  with  Sir  Rich 
ard  Gammon  and  Sir  Cloudesley  Shovel;  Mr.  Fair- 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  143 

weather  had  gone  to  see  the  Grand  Canal;  and  to 
Highfield  he  was  bound  by  a  solemn  promise  not  to 
say  any  thing  on  the  subject  nearest  his  heart.  Never 
was  man  so  encumbered  to  the  very  throat  with  vexa 
tions,  that  almost  choked  him  for  want  of  a  vent. 
Notwithstanding,  he  had  a  most  ingenious  way  of 
letting  off  a  little  high  steam  now  and  then.  If  he 
happened  to  encounter  a  beggar-woman  at  his  door, 
he  sent  her  about  her  business,  with  a  most  edifying 
lecture  on  idleness,  unthrift,  and  intemperance ;  if  a 
dog  came  in  his  way,  he  was  pretty  sure  of  a  kick  ;  if  a 
door  interposed,  it  might  fairly  calculate  upon  a  slam  ; 
and  if  the  weather  was  any  way  deserving  of  reproof, 
it  might  not  hope  to  escape  a  philippic.  Unfortunate 
ly  for  Mr.  Lee  he  had  no  wife,  to  become  the  residuary 
legatee  of  his  splenetic  humours ;  but  then  he  made 
himself  amends,  by  falling  upon  the  corporation  for 
suffering  the  swine  to  follow  their  instinct  of  wallow 
ing  in  the  mud,  and  for  furnishing  mud  for  them  to 
wallow  in  ;  for  not  taking  up'  the  beggars,  and  for 
taking  up  so  much  time  in  passing  laws  instead  of 
seeing  to  the  execution  of  those  already  passed ;  for 
allowing  the  little  boys  to  fly  kites  in  the  street;  for 
spending  money  in  monuments  and  canal  celebra 
tions  ;  and  for  every  thing  that  ever  occurred  to  the 
imagination  of  a  worthy  old  gentleman,  who  com 
pounded  for  his  mouth  being  shut  on  one  subject,  by 
declaiming  upon  a  thousand  others  about  which  he 
did  not  care  a  fig. 

He  could  not  help  seeing  that  his  favourite  project 
was  in  a  most  backsliding  condition,  and  that  every 
day  Lucia  was  less  with  Highfield  and  more  with 
Goshawk.  Whereupon  he  gathered  himself  together, 


144  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

and  uttered  a  tremendous  libel  upon  literary  pretend 
ers,  rhyming  fops,  empty  declaimers,  and  sentimental 
puppies.  Nay,  he  spared  not  the  azures  themselves, 
but  pronounced  their  condemnation  in  words  of  such 
horrible  atrocity,  that  I  will  not  dare  the  responsibility 
even  of  putting  them  on  record.  I  will  not  deny, 
however,  that  in  the  midst  of  his  blasphemies  he  said 
some  things  carrying  with  them  a  remote  affinity  with 
common-sense.  He  affirmed  that  there  was  among 
the  women  of  the  present  fashionable  world  a  hollow 
affectation  of  literature  —  an  admiration  of  affected 
sentiment  and  overstrained  hyperbole;  that  they  placed 
too  little  value  on  morals,  and  too  much  on  manners ; 
that  an  amiable  disposition,  together  with  all  the 
qualities  essential  to  honourable  action,  were  held  in 
little  consideration,  while  they  paid  their  court  to  the 
most  diminutive  dwarf  of  a  genius,  and  listened  with 
exclusive  delight  to  frothy  declamations,  the  product 
of  empty  heads  and  hollow  hearts,  alike  devoid  of 
manly  firmness  or  the  capacity  to  be  useful  in  any 
honourable  rank  or  situation.  He  reproached  them, 
most  bitterly,  with  being  the  dupes  of  false  senti 
ment  and  affected  sorrows  ;  and  finally  concluded  his 
diatribe  by  giving  it  as  his  settled  opinion,  that  the 
present  system  of  female  education  was  admirably 
calculated  to  make  daughters  extravagant,  wives 
ridiculous,  and  mothers  incapable  of  fulfilling  their 
duties.  But  I  entreat  my  beloved  female  readers  to 
recollect,  that  all  this  was  soliloquized  in  a  passion 
by  an  elderly  gentleman,  born  long  before  the  inven 
tion  of  steam-engines  and  spinning-jennies,  and  that 
I  only  place  it  on  record  for  the  purpose  of  showing 
what  a  prodigious  "  development  of  mind  "  has  taken 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  145 

place  in  the  world  since  Mr.  Lee  received  his  early 
impressions. 

The  good  gentleman  sat  himself  down  in  his  li 
brary,  and  fell  into  a  deep  contemplation  on  the  course 
proper  to  be  pursued  in  this  perplexing  state  of  his 
domestic  affairs.  He  pondered  it,  at  least  half  an  hour. 
At  length  he  started  up  with  almost  youthful  alacrity, 
and  rung  the  bell.  In  due  time,  that  is,  in  no  very 
great  haste,  King  Juba  made  his  appearance. 

"  Juba,"  said  Mr.  Lee,  "  bring  out  my  best  blue 
coat,  buff  waistcoat,  and  snuff-coloured  breeches.  I 
am  going  to  dress." 

"  No  time  yet,  massa,  to  dress  for  dinner,"  said 
Juba. 

"  I  tell  you,  bring  out  my  best  suit,  you  obstinate 
old  snowball  —  I  am  going  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  lady." 

"  A  lady,  sir,  massa !  " 

"  Ay,  a  lady  —  is  there  any  thing  to  grin  at,  in  my 
visiting  a  lady,  you  blockhead  ?  " 

"  Juba,"  quoth  Mr.  Lee,  while  dressing  himself, 
"Juba,  how  old  am  I?" 

"  Massa  fifty-eight,  last  grass." 

"  No  such  thing,  sir,  I'm  just  fifty-five,  not  a  day 
older.  How  should  you  know  any  thing  about 
it?" 

"  Why,  I  only  saw  massa,  de  berry  day  he  born  — 
dat  was  —  ay,  let  me  see,  was  twenty  -  second  day 
of—" 

"  Hold  your  peace,  sir ;  you've  lost  your  memory, 
as  well  as  all  the  five  senses,  I  believe." 

"  Well,  well,  no  great  matter  if  massa  two,  tree 
year  older  or  younger  —  all  de  same  a  hundred  years 
hence." 

10 


146  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

"  But  it  is  matter  I  tell  you,  sir.  I'm  going  to  be 
married." 

"  Married ! ",  echoed  Juba,  his  white  eyes  almost 
starting  out  of  his  ebony  head  —  "  married !  "  He 
saw  at  a  glance  such  a  resolution  would  be  fatal  to 
his  supremacy. 

"  Ay,  married ;  is  there  any  thing  so  extraordinary 
in  that?" 

"  But  what  Miss  Lucy  say  to  dat,  massa  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  disinherit  her." 

Juba's  eyes  opened  wider  than  ever,  and  he  thought 
to  himself  the  debil  was  in  his  massa. 

"  What  young  massa  Highfield  say  to  dat  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  says ;  I  mean  to  disinherit 
him,  too." 

"Whew  —  whew!"  was  the  reply  of  old  Ebony. 
"  Massa  tell  me  what  lady  he  hab  in  he  eye  ?  " 

"  Miss  Appleby." 

"  Miss  Applepie  too  young  for  old  massa." 

Juba  had  been  long  accustomed  to  call  Mr.  Lee 
"  old  massa,"  without  giving  offence,  but  now  the 
phrase  was  taken  in  high  dudgeon. 

"  Old  master !  —  you  blockhead,  who  gave  you  the 
liberty  of  calling  me  old  ?  I'm  only  fifty-five,  and  Miss 
Appleby  is  twenty-four ;  the  difference  is  not  great." 

"  Yes ;  but  when  Miss  Applepie  fifty-five,  where 
old  massa  be  den?"  quoth  Juba. 

This  was  a  home  question.  Mr.  Lee  dismissed 
Juba,  and  sat  down  to  calculate  where  he  should  be 
when  Miss  Appleby  attained  to  the  age  of  fifty-five. 
The  result  was  altogether  unsatisfactory.  He  again 
rung  for  Juba,  and  directed  him  to  put  up  his  best 
suit  again. 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  147 

"  I  have  put  off  my  visit  till  to-morrow." 
"  Massa  better   put  him   off  till  doomday,"  quoth 
Juba  to  himself;  and  so  massa  did. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

OUR  HERO  DETERMINES  ON  A  VOYAGE. 

THERE  never  was  a  man,  or  woman  either,  that 
found  such  difficulty  in  keeping  silence  on  what  was 
uppermost  in  the  heart,  as  Mr.  Lee,  or  who  had  more 
ingenious  ways  of  giving  side  hits,  and  uttering 
wicked  innuendoes.  He  never  on  any  occasion  missed 
an  opportunity  of  launching  out  against  addle-pated 
rhymesters,  boys  that  thought  themselves  wiser  than 
their  betters,  and  girls  who  talked  sentiment  and  for 
got  their  duty.  If  Goshawk  uttered  a  word  of  azure, 
he  cried  "  Pish  !  " ;  if  Lucia  talked  sentiment,  he  ejacu 
lated  some  other  epithet  of  mortal  contempt ;  and  if 
Highfield  said  any  thing  about  honour  or  indepen 
dence,  he  called  him  a  puppy. 

In  the  mean  time  matters  were  growing  worse  and 
worse  every  day.  Goshawk  ventured  to  hint  pretty 
distinctly  the  nature  and  object  of  his  mysterious  sor 
rows  ;  Lucia  treated  her  cousin  with  increasing  cool 
ness  ;  and  Highfield  looked  paler  and  paler.  Unable 
to  bear  his  situation  any  longer,  he  one  morning  —  it 
was  the  day  after  Lucia  had  given  the  watch-chain 
she  had  promised  him,  to  Goshawk,  before  his  very 
eyes  —  he  one  morning  took  the  opportunity  of  being 
left  alone  with  his  uncle,  to  announce  to  him,  that. 


148  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

being  now  sufficiently  recovered  from  his  indisposition, 
it  was  his  intention  to  visit  his  relatives  in  the  South, 
and  spend  some  time  with  them.  "  Perhaps,  indeed,  I 
mav  not  return  at  all,"  said  he. 

Mr.  Lee  was  struck  dumb  for  a  moment ;  but 
whenever  this  happens  to  people,  it  is  pretty  certain 
they  will  make  themselves  ample  amends  for  their 
silence,  as  soon  after  as  possible. 

"  Not  come  back  at  all !  ",  at  length  roared  the  old 
gentleman ;  "  did  you  say  that,  boy  ?  " 

"  I  did,  sir,"  said  Highfield,  firmly ;  "  my  situation 
here  is  becoming  intolerable.  I  am  harassed  with 
anxieties,  depressed  by  a  sense  of  degrading  depend 
ence,  and  cut  to  the  soul  by  perceiving  every  day  new 
reasons  to  believe  my  cousin  knows  and  despises  my 
presumption." 

"  May  I  speak  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Lee,  gasping  for  breath. 

"  Hear  me  out  first,  my  dear  and  honoured  sir,"  said 
the  other.  "  When  you  first  proposed  this  union  to 
me,  I  considered  the  subject  deeply.  I  reflected  that 
though  poor  and  dependent  on  your  bounty,  still,  next 
to  your  daughter,  I  was  your  nearest  relative  ;  my 
cousin  was  rich  enough  to  make  it  immaterial  that  I 
was  poor;  she  was  lovely,  amiable,  and  intelligent  — 
such  a  being  as,  when  held  up  to  the  hopes  and  wishes 
of  youth,  could  not  but  prove  irresistible.  I  therefore 
consented  to  try  my  chance  for  this  glorious  prize  by 
every  means  becoming  a  man  of  spirit  and  honour 
placed  in  such  a  delicate  situation.  You  see  the  re 
sult,  sir.  Lucia  not  only  feels  indifferent  to  me,  but 
there  is  every  appearance  that  she  prefers  another.  I 
am  too  poor  and  too  proud  to  persecute  or  see  her  per 
secuted  ;  and,  let  me  add,  too  much  attached  to  my 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  149 

cousin  to  remain  and  see  her  united  to  another  man. 
It  is  therefore  my  settled  determination  to  leave  you 
the  day  after  to-morrow.  My  passage  is  taken." 

Mr.  Lee  was  struck  dumb  again ;  but  the  fit  did 
not  last  long. 

"  May  I  speak  now  —  do  you  release  me  from  my 
promise  ?  "  cried  he,  his  eyes  starting  almost  out  of  his 
head. 

"  As  respects  myself,  sir,  say  what  you  will ;  but,  for 
my  cousin,  I  claim  your  promise  that  she  shall  suffer 
no  persecution  on  my  account." 

"  And  so,  sir,  I  must  not  speak  to  my  own  child  ?  " 

"I  claim  your  promise,  sir.  Let  her  remain  for 
ever  ignorant  of  my  motives  for  leaving  you." 

"  Charles,"  said  the  old  man,  taking  his  hand  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  "  are  you  determined  to  abandon  me 
in  my  old  age  ?  " 

"  My  dear  uncle,  my  benefactor,  any  thing  but  this ! 
I  cannot  stay  to  be  murdered  by  inches,  and  stand  in 
the  way  of  my  cousin's  happiness.  I  must  go.  But 
wherever  I  do  go,  whatever  my  lot  may  be,  my  last 
breath  of  life  will  be  all  gratitude  for  your  past  kind 
ness.  I  wish  it  were  otherwise ;  but,  for  some  time  at 
least,  we  must  part." 

"  Charles !  Charles !  my  boy !  "  cried  the  warm 
hearted  old  man,  as  he  put  his  arms  about  his  neck 
and  wept  on  his  shoulder.  At  this  moment  Lucia 
entered,  and  inquired  anxiously  what  was  the  matter. 

"  The  matter !  you,  you  are  the  matter,"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Lee,  in  a  fury. 

"  Recollect  your  word  of  honour,  sir,"  whispered 
Highfield  to  his  uncle,  as  he  left  the  room.  The  old 
gentleman  cast  a  most  terrible  look  at  his  daughter, 


150  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

and  followed.  But  Lucia  remained,  musing  for  some 
time  on  the  scene  that  had  just  passed ;  and  it  was 
not  till  she  learned  that  Highfield  was  on  the  point  of 
leaving  home  for  a  long  while,  that  her  perplexity  be 
came  absorbed  in  another  and  more  powerful  feeling. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HIGHFIELD   ENTERS  ON   A   VOYAGE. 

JUBA  was  assisting  his  young  master,  or  rather  de 
laying  him,  in  packing  up  his  things,  for  the  old  man 
made  a  sad  business  of  it ;  Lucia  was  in  her  cham 
ber,  netting  a  purse  as  fast  as  her  eyes  would  let  her; 
and  Mr.  Lee  was  in  his  library,  writing  with  all  his 
might. 

"Ah,  Massa  Highfield!",  said  Juba  at  length, 
"what  Miss  Lucia  say  when  you  go  away?" 

"  Miss  Lucia  say ! "  quoth  the  other,  somewhat  sur 
prised,  —  "  why,  nothing." 

"Ah,  Massa  Highfield!,  if  you  only  know  what  I 
know,  icod !  massa  wouldn't  stir  a  peg,  I  reckon." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  Juba,  and  what  are 
you  doing?  You've  put  my  old  boots  up  with  my 
clean  cravats." 

"  Ah,  massa !,  I  know  what  I  say,  but  I  don't  know 
what  I  do  now,  much ;  but,  if  Massa  Highfield  only 
know  what  I  do  —  dat's  all." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  know,  Juba  ?  "  said  Highfield, 
hardly  knowing  what  he  was  saying  at  the  moment. 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  151 

"  I  know  Miss  Lucia  break  her  heart  when  you 
gone." 

"  Pooh !  Miss  Lucia  don't  care  whether  I  go  or 
stay." 

"  Ah,  Massa  Highfield !,  if  you  only  see  her  set  by 
your  bedside  when  you  light-headed,  and  cry  so,  and 
say  prayers,  and  wipe  your  forehead,  and  kiss  it " 

"  What  —  what  are  you  talking  about,  you  old 
fool?"  cried  Highfield,  almost  gasping  for  breath. 
"  If  you  say  another  word,  I'll  turn  you  out  of  the 
room." 

"  Ah,  Juba  always  old  fool  —  no  young  fools  now 
adays ;  all  true  dough,  by  jingo,  I  swear.  I  seed  her 
wid  my  own  eyes  —  dat's  all."  And  he  went  on  with 
his  packing,  slower  than  ever,  while  Highfield  sunk 
into  a  deep  reverie,  the  subject  of  which  the  reader 
must  know  little  of  his  own  heart  if  he  requires  me 
to  unfold. 

The  next  morning  was  the  last  they  were  to  spend 
together,  and  the  little  party  met  at  breakfast.  Lucia 
at  first  had  determined  to  have  a  headache,  and  stay 
in  her  room  ;  but  her  conscious  heart  whispered  her 
this  might  excite  a  suspicion  that  she  could  not 
bear  the  parting  with  her  cousin.  Accordingly  she 
summoned  all  the  allies  of  woman  to  her  assist 
ance.  She  called  up  maidenly  pride,  and  womanly 
deceit,  and  love's  hypocrisy,  to  her  aid,  and  they 
obeyed  the  summons.  She  entered  the  breakfast- 
room  with  a  pale  face,  but  with  a  self-possession 
which  I  have  never  since  reflected  upon  without  won 
der.  Little  was  said,  and  less  eaten,  by  the  party.  A 
summons  arrived  for  Highfield's  baggage,  and  a  mes 
sage  for  him  to  be  on  board  in  half  an  hour.  Mr. 


152  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

Lee  rose,  and  taking  from  his  pocket  a  paper,  gave  it 
to  Highfield  with  a  request  not  to  look  at  it  till  he 
was  outside  the  Hook.  Highfield  suspected  its  pur 
port,  and  replied :  — 

"  Excuse  me,  dear  uncle,  this  once  ;  "  and  he  opened 
the  paper,  which  was  nothing  less  than  the  deed  of  a 
fine  estate  Mr.  Lee  held  in  one  of  the  Southern  states. 

"  I  cannot  accept  this,  sir,"  said  the  young  man. 
"  I  cannot  consent  to  rob  my  cousin  of  what  is  hers  by 
nature  and  the  laws."  And  his  voice  became  choked 
with  emotion. 

"  I  insist,"  said  the  old  man  ;  "  it  is  all  I  can  give 
you  now.  Once  I  thought  to  give  you  all." 

"  And  I  too,"  said  Lucia,  but  she  could  get  no 
further. 

"  I  declare,  on  my  soul,"  said  Highfield,  "  I  will 
not,  I  cannot,  accept  it,  uncle.  You  at  least  know 
my  feelings  and  can  comprehend  my  reasons,  though 
others  may  not.  I  had  rather  starve,  than  rob  my 
cousin,  and  her  —  I  have  nothing  to  give  either  of 
you  in  return."  He  pulled  out  his  watch.  "  I  must 
go  now,"  said  he;  and  his  voice  sunk  into  nothing. 
Lucia  had  been  fumbling,  with  a  tremulous  hand,  in 
her  work-bag. 

"  My  cousin  is  determined,  I  see,"  said  she,  rallying 
herself,  "  not  to  accept  any  favours  from  us ;  but  — 
but  I  hope  he  will  not  refuse  this  purse,  empty  as  it  is. 
I  have  been  a  long  while  in  keeping  my  promise  ;  but, 
better  late,  they  say,  than  never."  And  she  burst  into 
a  torrent  of  uncontrollable  emotion.  Highfield  took 
the  purse,  and  put  it  in  his  bosom. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  uncle,  fareweh!  —  may  God 
bless  you!" 


THE    AZURE   HOSE.  153 

"  Stop  !  one  moment,"  —  cried  Mr.  Lee,  earnestly, 
and  looking  at  Lucia,  who  was  weeping  in  her  chair. 

"  Lucia,"  said  he  solemnly,  "  my  nephew  loves  you, 
arid  is  going  from  us  that  he  may  not  see  you  throw 
yourself  away  on  a  puppy  with  a  heart  as  hollow  as 
his  head." 

"  Uncle  !  "  said  Highfield. 

"  Nay,  sir,  I  will  speak ;  the  truth  shall  out,  though 
I  travel  barefoot  to  Rome  for  absolution.  Yes,  daugh 
ter,  my  nephew  loves  you,  and  with  my  entire  and 
perfect  approbation.  And  now,  madam,  I  am  going 
to  ask  you  some  questions,  which  I  trust  at  this  part 
ing  hour  you  will  answer,  not  as  a  foolish,  frivolous, 
girl,  who  thinks  it  proper  to  play  the  hypocrite  with 
her  father,  but  as  a  reasonable  woman  and  an  obedi 
ent  child.  Will  you  promise  ?  The  happiness  of 
more  than  one  depends  on  your  reply." 

Lucia  uncovered  her  face,  and,  having  mastered  her 
emotions,  firmly  replied, 

"  I  will,  father." 

"  Have  you  given  your  affections  to  Mr.  Gos 
hawk  ?  " 

"  I  have  not,  sir." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  bestow  them  on  him  ?  " 

"  Never,  sir." 

"  Are  your  affections  engaged  elsewhere  ?  " 

Lucia  answered  not ;  she  could  not  speak,  for  her 
life. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Lee ;  "  you  are 
deceiving  your  father  again.  You  have  given  away 
your  heart  to  some  whiskered  puppy  you  waltzed 
with  at  a  fancy-ball,  who  can  write  a  string  of  dis 
jointed  nonsense  about  nothing  in  jingling  rhyme,  or 


154  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

criticise  a  book  according  to  the  latest  Edinburgh  or 
Quarterly ;  and  yet  —  look  at  me,  Lucia,  and  answer 
me  too  —  did  you  not  while  your  cousin  was  delirious 
visit  his  bedside  ?  " 

"  I  did,  sir." 

"  And  weep  and  wring  your  hands;  and  watch  his 
slumbers  ;  and  minister  to  his  comforts ;  —  and  did  I 
not  once,  when  I  came  into  the  room  suddenly,  detect 
you  hovering  over  him  and  kissing  his  forehead  ? 
Answer  me,  as  you  hope  for  my  forgiveness  and 
Heaven's  for  playing  the  hypocrite  at  the  price  of 
others'  health  and  hopes  —  is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  It  is,  sir,"  said  the  daughter,  faintly ;  and,  sinking 
back  on  her  chair,  she  again  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands. 

"  What  am  I  to  understand  from  all  that  I  saw? " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  sir ;  for  my  sake ;  for  the  sake 
of  your  daughter ;  stop  !  "  cried  Highfield,  whose  feel 
ings  on  this  occasion  we  will  not  attempt  to  describe. 

"  Silence !  "  cried  the  old  man  ;  "  too  much  has  been 
risked,  too  much  is  at  stake,  and  too  much  may  be 
sacrificed  by  stopping  short  at  this  moment.  Answer 
me,  daughter  of  my  soul,"  added  he,  kindly  yet 
solemnly. 

"  You  are  to  understand,  sir,  from  all  this,  that  — 
that,  though  I  would  not  shut  my  heart  to  —  to  grati 
tude,  I  was  too  proud  to  force  it  on  one  who  did  not 
value  it  when  himself.  He  could  not  insult  me  with 
indifference  when  unconscious  of  my  presence." 

"  Oh   Lucia,   how  unjust  you   have  been  to  me 
You  knew  not  my  feelings,  when  I  seemed  most  in 
different." 

"  There  were  two  of  us  in  the  like  error,"  replied 
she,  with  a  heavy  sigh. 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  155 

"  The  pride  of  conscious  dependence  "  —  said  High- 
field. 

"  The  pride  of  woman  "  —  said  Lucia. 

"  I  loved  you  from  the  moment  I  felt  the  first  im 
pulses  of  manhood.  Oh  Lucia,  my  dear  cousin, 
daughter  of  my  benefactor,  companion  of  my  child 
hood,  will  you,  —  can  you  fulfil  his  wishes,  and  my 
hopes,  without  forfeiting  your  own  happiness  ?  Do 
you  not  despise  my  poverty  and  presumption  ?  Do  you 
not  hate  me  for  being  a  party,  at  least  in  appearance, 
in  thus  severely  probing  your  feelings  ?  Ah  !  had  I 
known  of  your  kindness  and  attentions  when  I  was 
not  myself,  I  should  not  when  myself  have  forgot  the 
deep,  heart-piercing  obligation ;  I  should  have  been 
grateful  —  " 

Mr.  Lee  could  not  bear  the  word.  "  Grateful ! 
pooh,  nonsense.  The  lady  is  grateful  for  past  favours, 
and  the  gentleman  is  grateful  for  past  sympathy. 
Look  ye,  most  grateful  lady,  and  most  grateful  gen 
tleman,  I  have  not  quite  so  many  years  to  live  and 
make  a  fool  of  myself  in  as  you  have,  perhaps.  Now, 
Lucia,  will  you  take  your  old  father's  word,  when  he 
tells  you,  solemnly,  that  Charles  has  loved  you  ever 
since  he  came  from  college  ?  " 

"  Long  before,  sir !  "  cried  Highfield,  warmly. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir,  if  you  please  —  Lucia,  an 
swer  for  yourself." 

"  I  will  believe  any  thing  my  father  says,  even  were 
it  ten  times  more  improbable,"  replied  she,  with  one 
of  her  long-absent  smiles. 

"  And  how  think  you  he  ought  to  be  rewarded  ?  " 

"  My  gratitude  will "  — 

"  Now,  Lucia,  you  are  at  your  old  tricks  again ;  I 


156  THE  AZURE  HOSE. 

tell  you  I  won*t  hear  a  word  about  that  infernal  grati 
tude." 

"  What  shall  I  say,  sir  ?  " 

"  Say  what  your  heart  prompts,  and  do  what  never 
mortal  woman  did  before  —  speak  the  truth,  even 
though  it  make  your  old  father  happy." 

"  Lucia  —  ?  "  said  Charles. 

"  Daughter  —  ?  "  said  Mr.  Lee. 

"  Charles  "  —  said  Lucia,  and  gave  him  her  hand  — 
"  You  shall  know  my  feelings  when  it  will  be  my 
duty  to  disguise  nothing  from  you." 

Highfield  lost  his  passage ;  the  ship  sailed  without 
him,  taking  with  her  all  his  wardrobe. 

Goshawk  called  that  morning  as  early  as  fashiona 
ble  hours  would  permit,  to  take  the  first  opportunity 
of  enforcing  his  attractions  on  Lucia,  in  Highfield's 
absence. 

"  She  no  see  any  body,"  said  Juba. 

Mr.  Goshawk  said  he  had  particular  business.  Juba 
demurred  — 

"  She  busy  wid  young  Massa  Highfield." 

"  What,  is  not  Mr.  Highfield  gone  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  he  going  anoder  voyage  soon." 

"  Not  gone  !  why,  what  prevented  him  ?  " 

Juba  grinned  mortally.  "  Miss  Lucia  prevent  him. 
—  Icod,  Massa  Goosehawk  bill  out  of  joint,  I  reckon," 
quoth  Ebony,  half  aside. 

Goshawk  soon  got  to  the  bottom  of  the  matter, 
which  he  forthwith  communicated  to  the  azure  coterie 
at  Miss  Appleby's,  each  of  whom  made  a  famous 
speech  on  the  occasion,  and  voted  Lucia  a  Goth. 

"  To  fall  in  love  with  a  man  of  no  genius!",  cried 
Miss  Overend. 


THE   AZURE   HOSE.  157 

"  Who  can't  write  a  line  of  poetry ! ",  cried  Miss 
Appleby. 

"  Who  hates  argument ! ",  cried  the  great  Pud- 
dingham. 

"  Who  places  actions  before  words ! ",  cried  Pad- 
dleford. 

"  Who  never  made  a  set  speech  in  his  life ! ",  cried 
Prosser. 

"  Who  hates  passion  —  " 

"  Despises  criticism  —  " 

"  And  never  reads  a  review  — "  cried  they  all  to 
gether. 

Every  member  of  the  azure  tribe,  to  whom  Gos 
hawk's  despairing  passion  had  been  long  known,  took 
it  for  granted  that,  having  so  excellent  an  apology,  he 
would  now  certainly  die  of  despair,  or  suddenly  make 
away  with  himself,  after  writing  his  own  elegy.  He 
did  neither;  but  he  became,  if  possible,  ten  times 
more  miserable  than  ever.  He  railed  at  this  \vorld, 
and  the  things  of  this  world ;  he  tied  a  black  ribbon 
round  his  neck,  drank  gin  and  water,  and  ate  fish 
every  day.  One  minute  he  talked  of  joining  the 
Greeks,  and  the  next  the  Cherokees ;  sometimes  he 
sighed  away  his  very  soul  in  wishes  for  speedy  anni 
hilation,  and  then  he  sighed  away  his  soul  again  in 
pining  for  the  delights  of  Italy,  lamenting  that  he  was 
not  rich  enough  to  go  thither,  occupy  a  palace,  and 
hire  a  nobleman's  wife  to  come  and  be  his  house 
keeper,  like  my  Lord  Byron.  Man  delighted  not  him, 
nor  woman  neither ;  he  sucked  melancholy,  as  the  bee 
sucks  honey,  out  of  every  flower;  the  sunshine  sad 
dened  him,  the  clouds  made  him  gloomy,  and  the  light 
of  the  moon  threw  him  into  paroxysms  of  despair. 


158  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

Finally  he  announced  his  determination  to  retire  from 
this  busy,  noisy,  heartless,  naughty,  good-for-nothing 
world,  and  spend  the  remainder  of  a  life  of  disap 
pointment  and  misery  in  the  great  mammoth  cave  of 
Kentucky.  But,  what  was  very  remarkable  and  shows 
the  strange  inconsistency  of  genius,  there  was  no 
public  place,  no  party,  no  exhibition  of  any  kind,  at 
which  this  unhappy  gentleman  did  not  make  his  ap 
pearance,  notwithstanding  his  contempt  of  the  world 
and  its  empty  pleasures. 

In  process  of  time,  there  was  a  great  dispersion 
from  the  tower  of  Babel  at  Miss  Appleby's.  That 
azure  and  sublime  lady  descended  at  last,  as  she  said, 
"  to  link  her  fate,  chain  down  her  destiny,  and  tram 
mel  her  genius,"  with  an  honest  grocer  from  Coenties 
Slip,  who,  not  being  able  to  speak  English  himself, 
had  a  great  veneration  for  high  and  lofty  declamation. 
Miss  Overend  grew  weary  of  the  Executive  Greek 
Committee,  and  paired  off  with  a  little  broker,  who 
had  got  rich  by  speculating  in  the  bills  of  broken 
banks,  and  drank  Champagne  instead  of  small-beer 
at  dinner.  Paddleford  married  an  heiress  from  some 
where  near  the  Five  Points ;  and  the  great  Pudding- 
ham  became  a  member  of  the  city  corporation,  where 
he  served  on  divers  important  committees,  drew  up 
sundry  laws  that  puzzled  wiser  men  than  himself  to 
expound,  and  became  a  sore  persecutor  of  mad  dogs 
and  wallowing  swine,  insomuch  that,  if  a  cur  in  his 
sober  senses,  or  a  pig  of  ordinary  discretion,  saw  him 
coming  afar  off,  he  would  incontinently  flee  away 
like  unto  the  wind.  He  became,  moreover,  a  great 
philanthropist,  and  it  was  observed  that  he  never,  in 
the  capacity  of  assistant-justice  at  the  Quarter-Ses- 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  159 

sions,  pronounced  sentence  on  an  offender,  without 
first  making  him  a  low  bow  and  begging  his  pardon 
for  the  liberty  he  was  about  to  take. 

Poor  Mr.  Goshawk,  being  thus  as  it  were  left  alone, 
1o  play  the  haggard  hermit  azure-wise,  continued  to 
nourish  his  despair  at  all  public  places.  He  was  a 
constant  attendant  at  the  Italian  opera,  where  he 
kept  himself  awake  by  nodding  and  bobbing  his  ad 
miration  ;  beating  time  with  his  chin  upon  his  little 
ivory-headed  switch,  and  now  and  then  crying 
"  Bravo  !  "  to  the  signorina.  Every  body  said,  what 
an  enthusiast  was  Mr.  Goshawk,  and  what  a  soul  he 
had  for  music,  until  one  night  he  mistook  Yankee 
Doodle  for  "  Di  Tanti,"  which  ruined  his  reputation 
for  ever,  as  a  connoisseur.  By  slow,  imperceptible, 
yet  inevitable  degrees,  he  at  length  sunk  to  his  proper 
level  ;  for  the  most  stupid  at  last  will  become  tired  of 
affectation,  and  the  most  ignorant  detect  their  kindred 
ignorance.  His  loud,  pompous  nothings  ;  his  affected 
contempt  of  the  world,  and  distaste  for  life ;  his  dis 
jointed,  silly,  and  unpurposed  poetical  effusions ;  and 
his  mysterious  sorrows ;  —  all  combined,  failed  in  the 
end  to  sustain  his  claim  to  genius.  The  admiration 
of  his  associates  dwindled  into  indifference,  and  even 
the  young  ladies  tittered  at  his  approach.  He  tried 
the  pretender's  last  stake  — the  society  of  strangers. 
He  went  to  the  Springs,  where  it  was  his  good  for 
tune  to  encounter  the  sentimental  widow  of  a  rich 
lumber-merchant,  from  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
great  Dismal  Swamp.  She  was  simplicity  itself;  she 
adored  poetry,  idolized  genius,  and  the  routine  of  her 
reading  had  prepared  her  to  mistake  high-sounding 
words  for  lofty  ideas,  and  namby-pamby  twaddle  for 


160  THE   AZURE   HOSE. 

genuine  feeling.  Goshawk  thundered  away  at  the 
innocent  widow,  and  soon  melted  her  heart,  by  de 
claiming  about  the  emptiness  of  this  world  and  the 
heartlessness  of  mankind.  The  poor  lady  came  to 
think  it  the  greatest  condescension  possible,  for  him 
to  select  her  from  this  mighty  mass  of  worthlessness. 
Finally,  he  declared  his  enthusiastic  love. 

"  La !  Mr.  Goshawk,"  said  the  widow,  "  I  thought 
you  despised  the  world,  and  the  people  in  it." 

"  Divine  widow,"  cried  the  poet,  "  you  belong  to 
another  world,  and  a  higher  order  of  beings." 

Goshawk  is  now  the  happy  husband  of  the  widow, 
and  lords  it  over  a  wide  tract  of  the  Great  Dismal. 
He  orders  his  gentlemen  of  colour  to  cut  down  pine 
trees,  in  the  style  of  Cicero  declaiming  against 
Verres ;  reads  Lord  Byron  under  the  shade  of  a  bark- 
hut;  and  makes  poetry  extempore,  while  riding  to 
church  over  a  log  causeway  in  a  one-horse  wagon 
with  wooden  springs.  The  widow  has  already  dis 
covered  that  her  husband  is  no  witch,  for  nothing 
makes  people  more  clear-sighted  than  marriage ;  and 
the  man  of  genius  has  found  out  that  his  lady  has  a 
will  of  her  own. 

Our  heroine  remains  the  happy,  rational,  lovely 
wife  of  Highfield,  and  talks  just  like  other  well-bred 
sensible  people.  She  prefers  Milton  to  Byron,  and 
the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  to  an  entire  new  Waverley. 
She  admires  her  husband,  though  he  can't  write  poe 
try  ;  and  is  a  sincere  convert  to  the  opinion,  that  high 
moral^principles,  gentlemanly  manners,  an  amiable 
disposition,  a  well-constituted  intellect,  and  the  tal 
ents  to  be  useful  in  society,  are  ingredients  in  the 
character  of  a  husband,  a  thousand  times  more  im- 


THE   AZURE    HOSE.  161 

portant  than  affected  sensibility,  or  the  capacity  to 
disguise  empty  nothings  in  bombastic  words  and  jin 
gling  rhymes. 

My  worthy  friend,  Mr.  Lightfoot  Lee,  is  so  happy, 
that  he  begins  seriously  to  doubt  whether  the  world 
is  really  going  forward  or  backward.  There  is  reason 
to  apprehend  that  he  and  Mr.  Fairweather  will  soon 
agree  on  this  great  question,  and  then  there  will  cer 
tainly  be  an  end  to  their  long  friendship. 

"  Ah  massa,"  said  King  Juba  one  day  to  Mr.  Lee, 
who  was  apt  to  boast  of  his  excellent  management  in 
bringing  about  this  happy  state  of  things  — "  Ah 
massa,  icod,  if  I  no  tell  massa  Highfield  about  dem 
dare  visit  to  he  bedside  when  he  light-headed,  he  no 
marry  Miss  Lucia  arter  all." 

"  Pooh,  you  old  blockhead,  don't  you  know  mar 
riages  are  made  in  heaven  ?  " 

"  May  be  so,  massa,  but  old  nigger  hab  something 
to  do  wid  um  for  all  dat  —  guy !  " 

"  Get  away,  you  stupid  old  ninny!" 

"  Massa  wouldn't  dare  call  me  ninny,  if  I  was  a 
white  man,"  quoth  Juba,  as  he  strutted  away  with 
the  air  of  a  descendant  of  a  hundred  ebony  kings. 


11 


THE   DUMB    GIRL. 


THE   DUMB   GIRL. 


Speak  thou  fair  words,  I'll  answer  with  my  eyes ; 

Send  thou  sweet  looks,  I'll  meet  them  with  sweet  looks; 

Tell  me  thy  sorrows,  I'll  reply  with  tears; 

Thy  joys,  I'll  sympathize  with  dallying  smiles; 

Thy  love,  and  still  I'll  answer  with  mine  eyes, 

Using  my  lips  only  to  kiss  thee,  love. 

SOME  thirty  years  ago,  on  a  little  corner  of  a  farm 
belonging  to  an  uncle  of  mine,  lived  an  aged  man  of 
the  name  of  Angevine,  an  "  old  continental,"  as  he 
was  called  in  the  language  of  the  times.  He  had  left 
the  neighbourhood  to  enter  the  army  of  the  Revolu 
tion,  and,  after  serving  throughout  the  whole  war, 
(and  bravely  too,  if  his  own  word  might  be  taken  for 
it),  had  returned,  very  poor.  Accordingly,  he  was  per 
mitted  by  my  uncle  to  occupy  a  small  tenement  with 
a  garden,  in  a  remote  angle  of  his  estate,  rent  free. 
Angevine  was  a  gallant  soldier,  but  rather  an  idle 
man.  His  delight  was  to  talk  of  the  Revolutionary 
war ;  —  and  who  has  a  better  right  to  talk,  than  a 
man  who  has  lent  a  hand  in  giving  liberty  to  his 
country?  I  have  known  Angevine  stop  on  his  way 
to  mill,  with  a  bushel  of  corn  on  his  shoulder,  and 
talk  a  full  hour  about  his  campaigns,  without  ever 


166  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

thinking  of  putting  down  his  bag.  What  was  his 
origin  I  know  not ;  it  was  probably  French :  but  I  re 
member,  whenever  he  got  offended  with  my  good  un 
cle,  (who  in  truth  was  of  the  family  of  Melchisidec), 
he  used  to  be  somewhat  scurrilous  on  the  subject  of 
ancestry.  He  held  it  as  a  maxim,  that  a  soldier  was 
always  a  gentleman ;  and  his  conduct  verified  his 
maxim,  for  he  never  worked  when  he  could  help  it, 
and  passed  most  of  his  time  in  telling  stories  of  skir 
mish,  or  battle,  or  quarters.  His  revenue  was  his 
good  spirits,  which  generally  made  him  a  welcome 
intruder  in  all  the  neighbouring  houses  ;  and  when 
they  failed  in  that,  served  to  reconcile  him  to  his  dis 
appointment.  I  believe  he  was  never  serious  except 
when  he  read  his  Bible,  which  he  did  every  day.  He 
would  walk  fifteen  miles  to  a  training,  for  fun ;  got 
his  head  frequently  broken,  in  fun ;  was  run  over  by 
a  wagon,  in  fun  ;  was  pitched  down  a  high  bank,  in 
wrestling,  for  fun ;  had  his  hip  put  out  of  joint,  and 
once  was  put  into  jail  —  all  in  fun.  In  short,  it  was 
said  of  him  that  he  talked  more  and  worked  less  than 
any  man  in  the  county ;  his  aphorism  being,  that 
all  the  good  people  worked  for  him  and  that  it  ran 
against  his  conscience  to  work  for  the  wicked.  He 
died,  as  he  lived,  in  fun;  —  giving  his  pipe  to  one, 
his  tobacco-box  to  another,  his  odd  knee-buckles  to 
a  third;  and  bequeathing  his  Testament,  which  he 
knew  by  heart,  to  my  uncle,  in  payment  of  his  rent. 
He  was  a  libel  on  all  who  possess  the  means  of  being 
happy,  yet  are  wretched ;  for  he  enjoyed  more  pleas 
ure,  and  created  more  mirth,  than  any  man  I  ever 
knew,  at  the  very  time  that,  in  the  opinion  of  all  re 
flecting  persons,  he  ought  to  have  been  miserable. 


THE   DUMB   GIRL.  167 

In  truth  he  had  enough  to  make  him  so,  besides  pov 
erty.  He  had  but  two  children,  a  girl  and  a  boy ;  the 
former  was  dumb,  and  the  latter  an  idiot. 

At  the  time  of  the  old  man's  death,  Ellee,  as  he  was 
called  —  it  was  a  contraction  of  some  name  I  have 
forgotten  —  was  about  fourteen,  his  sister  Phoebe, 
about  sixteen  years  of  age.  The  poor  boy  had  a 
heart,  though  he  had  no  head.  His  affections  were 
singularly  strong;  his  reason  but  a  little  beyond  in 
stinct.  He  loved  his  mother  because  she  fed  and 
clothed  him ;  he  loved  his  sister,  for  she  was  his  com 
panion,  his  guide,  his  protector,  his  solace ;  and  he 
seemed  to  have  a  perception  that  she  laboured  under 
some  privation  which  resembled  his  own,  yet  was  not 
exactly  the  same.  In  all  cases  of  danger,  suffering, 
insult,  or  injury,  he  flew  to  his  sister  for  refuge,  and 
she  in  time  became  a  young  lioness  in  his  defence. 
The  boy  was  quite  tractable,  and  could  be  made  use 
ful  in  many  little  things,  such  as  bringing  water,  go 
ing  of  errands  to  the  neighbours,  (who  understood  his 
dumb  show),  and  weeding  the  garden  ;  until,  one  day, 
whether  in  mischief,  or  from  not  knowing  better,  he 
plucked  up  a  bed  of  radishes  for  weeds.  He  had  a 
singular,  wild  note,  which  he  sometimes  uttered  when 
in  violent  agitation,  and  which  was  not  unlike  the 
low,  distant  whoop  of  the  owl,  though  somewhat 
more  plaintive.  His  chief  delight  was  to  go  every 
where  with  his  sister. 

Phoebe  was  not  born  dumb,  but  lost  her  speech 
about  the  age  of  fourteen,  as  was  supposed  at  the 
time  by  a  shock  of  lightning,  which  paralyzed  the  or 
gans  of  utterance  without  affecting  her  hearing.  Be 
fore  this  happened  she  had  learned  to  read  and  write, 


168  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

and  her  mind  had  been  considerably  improved  at  a 
school  hard  by,  whither  old  Angevine  had  sent  her  at 
his  own  cost,  as  he  boasted  ;  though  truth  obliges  me 
to  confess  he  never  paid  a  shilling  for  her  schooling. 
At  the  same  time,  he  scouted  the  offers  which  were 
made  to  bring  up  his  children  at  the  expense  of  the 
town.  When  Phoebe  was  smitten  in  this  unaccount 
able  and  melancholy  way,  it  was  affecting  to  see  her 
impatience  at  first,  her  succeeding  despair,  and  the 
steps  through  which  by  degrees  she  regained  her 
spirits  and  resumed  her  useful  occupations.  Ellee 
for  a  little  while  exhibited  indications  of  a  vague,  in 
definite  wonder  and  anxiety;  but  in  a  few  days  all 
traces  of  these  wore  away,  and  he  seemed  uncon 
scious  that  his  sister  had  undergone  any  change.  Her 
mother,  an  honest,  careful,  industrious  creature,  took 
it  sadly  to  heart ;  but,  after  a  time,  the  only  effect  it 
was  observed  to  have  upon  the  good  woman  was  that 
she  talked  twice  as  much  as  ever,  I  suppose  to  make 
up  for  the  silence  of  Phoebe.  Angevine  took  to  his 
Bible  for  days  and  weeks  afterwards.  Indeed  I  be 
lieve  he  never  fairly  regained  his  spirits,  although  the 
force  of  habit  and  constitution  still  caused  him  to  ex 
hibit  the  usual  indications  of  hilarity.  He  died  about 
two  years  after  the  accident. 

At  sixteen,  Phoebe  Angevine  was  the  prettiest  girl 
in  all  the  surrounding  country,  as  well  as  the  most  in 
dustrious.  Indeed  it  was  observed  that. Ellee  was 
better  dressed,  the  garden  in  finer  order,  and  every 
thing  about  the  house  more  tidy  and  comfortable, 
since  the  death  of  the  "  old  continental."  The  over 
seers  of  the  poor  offered  to  take  charge  of  poor  Ellee ; 
but  both  mother  and  daughter  declared  that,  so  long 


THE   DUMB   GIRL.  169 

as  they  could  maintain  him,  he  should  never  be  a 
burthen  to  others.  This  was  before  the  poor  were 
coaxed  to  become  paupers,  and  lured  into  idleness  ' 
and  unthrift  by  the  mistaken  benevolence  of  morbid 
sensibility.  I  thought  it  necessary  to  add  this,  in 
order  to  render  the  anecdote  credible.  I  don't  re 
member  ever  to  have  seen  exactly  such  a  face  and 
figure  as  those  of  Phoebe.  Her  hair  was  amazingly 
long,  luxuriant,  and  silky ;  of  a  dark  brown  colour,  to 
match  her  eyes ;  and,  (what  is  very  rare  with  our 
country  girls  out  of  New  England),  her  skin  was  ex 
cessively  white.  Her  face  in  particular  was  all  li]y ; 
there  was  not  the  slightest  tinge  of  the  rose,  except 
when  the  impulse  of  her  heart  drove  the  blood  into 
her  cheeks.  It  is  impossible  to  give  any  idea  of  her 
features  and  expression ;  the  former  were  rather  sharp 
than  oval,  and  the  latter  displayed  the  character  and 
impress  of  most  intense  passion,  or  sensibility,  or  both. 
Never  woman  could  better  afford  to  lose  her  tongue, 
for  every  change  of  her  countenance  supplied  its 
place.  The  two  poles  are  not  more  distant  than  was 
the  contrast  between  the  lowly,  subdued,  and  dewy 
eye,  with  which  she  courtesied  to  my  good  old  uncle, 
and  the  flashing  intensity  of  its  rage  when  any  one 
played  tricks  upon  the  simplicity  of  her  brother,  or 
laughed  at  his  infirmity.  Her  eyes  then  did  the 
errand  of  her  tongue,  and  their  language  was  terrible. 
Every-body  wondered  how  she  always  kept  herself  so 
neat  —  for  she  was  neatness  itself.  It  was  partly 
innate  delicacy,  and  partly  personal  vanity.  It  was 
impossible  to  see  Phoebe,  without  discovering  at  once 
that  she  knew  she  was  handsome,  and  that  this  was 
seldom  absent  from  her  thoughts.  She  never  passed 


170  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

a  looking-glass  without  casting  a  glance ;  and,  doubt 
less,  many  are  the  crystal  mirrors  of  the  neighbour 
hood  that  could  murmur  of  her  beauties,  from  the 
frequent  opportunities  she  afforded  them  for  contem 
plation.  There  was  some  excuse  for  her,  since,  inde 
pendently  of  the  singular  charms  of  her  face,  her 
person  was  very  remarkable.  It  had  no  pretensions 
to  resembling  that  of  a  fashionable  lady,  for,  in  my 
opinion,  she  never  wore  corsets  in  her  life ;  but  it  pos 
sessed  that  singular  trimness  and  natural  grace  which 
the  connoisseur  will  not  fail  to  discover  and  admire  in 
an  Indian  warrior  fresh  from  the  hand  of  nature.  It 
was  as  mudh  superior  to  the  caricatures  fabricated 
by  fashionable  milliners,  as  the  virgin  Miranda  was  to 
the  monster  Caliban. 

Phoebe  was  fond  of  dress ;  it  was  her  foible,  nay, 
her  fault;  for  it  was  the  mischievous  minister  to  a 
vanity  already  become  the  master-passion  of  her 
bosom.  At  church  she  was  always  the  beauty,  and 
the  best-dressed  of  all  the  country  girls  ;  and  he  knows 
little  of  a  country  church  that  does  not  know  how 
many  hearts  throb  with  envy,  how  many  tongues 
overflow  with  gall,  when  the  owners  are  outdressed 
and  outshone  by  one  they  consider  beneath  them. 
These  sometimes  rudely  assailed  her  with  sneers  and 
innuendoes.  Phoebe  could  not  answer,  except  with  a 
look  that  no  eye  that  ever  I  have  seen  but  hers  could 
give.  The  poor  girl,  indeed,  was  sadly  envied  and 
hated  by  the  young  females  of  her  acquaintance,  not 
only  because  she  was  handsomer  and  better-dressed 
than  they,  but  on  account  of  her  triumphs  over  the 
rustic  beaux,  and  the  speaking,  taunting  glance  of  her 
eye,  when  she  carried  off  the  school-master,  or  heard 


THE   DUMB   GIRL.  171 

some  stranger  ask  who  was  that  neat,  pretty  girl. 
Then  her  ear  drank  the  delicious  sounds,  and  almost 
made  amends  for  the  loss  of  the  power  of  answering 
save  with  her  eyes.  Phoebe  was  indeed  the  belle  of  all 
the  neighbourhood  —  a  dangerous  preeminence !,  for 
her  poverty,  her  idiot  brother,  and  her  own  misfortune, 
were  so  many  bars  to  any  thing  beyond  the  gratifica 
tion  of  a  passing  hour.  She  had  many  admirers ; 
but  none  that  passed  the  usual  bounds  of  rustic  gal 
lantry,  none  that  sought  her  for  a  wife.  All  they  did 
was  to  administer  to  her  perilous  self-conceit,  and 
awaken  thoughts  and  anticipations  fatal  to  her  future 
peace  of  mind. 

I  went  to  school  with  Phoebe,  during  a  period  of 
three  or  four  years  that  I  sojourned  with  my  good 
uncle.  The  school-master  was  a  gallant  old-bachelor, 
whose  house  and  barn  had  been  burned  by  the  enemy, 
during  the  Revolutionary  war.  Having  petitioned 
Congress  seventeen  years  in  succession  and  cost  the 
nation  in  speeches  ten  times  the  amount  of  his  loss, 
he  at  last  got  out  of  patience  and  out  of  bread,  and 
turned  to  the  useful  as  well  as  honourable  office  of 
teaching  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot.  He  was  a 
lazy,  easy-tempered  man,  grievously  inclined  to  gal 
lantry,  and  novels,  in  the  purchase  of  which  he  spent 
much  of  his  superfluity.  These  he  lent  to  the  girls  of 
the  country  round,  and  scarcely  ever  visited  one  of 
them  without  a  love-tale  in  his  pocket  to  make  him 
welcome.  I  cannot  say  whether  these  useful  works 
had  any  thing  to  do  with  the  matter,  but,  certain  it  is, 
there  were  a  number  of  odd  accidents  happened  to 
the  damsels  of  the  neighbourhood  about  this  time. 
The  prettiest  girl  in  the  school  was  ever  the  greatest 


172  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

favourite,  and  the  prettiest  girl  was  Phoebe,  who  al 
ways  had  the  first  reading  of  his  novels.  I  recollect 
perfectly  that  such  was  her  appetite  for  these  high- 
seasoned  dishes,  that  she  would  read  them  in  walking 
home  from  school,  and  often  came  near  being  run 
over  in  the  road,  so  completely  was  she  occupied  with 
the  dangers  of  some  lone  lover  or  imprisoned  heroine. 
When  she  lost  her  speech,  of  course  she  quitted 
school ;  but  the  gallant  teacher  still  continued  to  visit 
her,  and  bring  the  newest  novels.  Poor  Ellee  used  to 
be  sometimes  out  of  all  patience  with  his  sister,  for 
sitting  thus  whole  hours  without  taking  notice  of  him, 
and  once  threw  a  whole  set  of  Pamela  into  the  fire, 
to  the  irreparable  loss  of  the  rising  generation. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen,  Phoebe  had  many  admirers 
beside  the  school-master.  Her  beauty  attracted  the 
young  men  ;  but  the  misfortunes  of  herself  and  family 
restrained  them  within  the  bounds  of  idle  admiration 
and  homely  gallantry :  moreover,  if  this  had  not  been 
the  case,  Phoebe  was  too  well  read  in  novels  to  relish 
the  devoirs  of  these  rustical  and  barbarous  Corydons. 
Thus  she  grew  up  to  the  perfection  of  womanhood, 
her  imagination  inflated  with  unreal  pictures,  and  her 
passions  stimulated  by  overwrought  scenes  of  senti 
ment,  or  sensuality  —  for  it  is  difficult  to  draw  the 
line  now. 

About  this  time,  the  only  son  of  a  neighbouring 
squire  —  whose  wealth  outwent  the  modest  means  of 
all  his  neighbours  not  excepting  my  worthy  uncle,  and 
was  moreover  enhanced  by  his  official  dignity  —  re 
turned  home,  like  the  prodigal  son  of  holy-writ,  poor 
and  penitent.  He  had  in  early  youth  been  smitten 
with  the  romantic  dangers  of  the  seas ;  and,  being  re- 


THE   DUMB   GIRL.  173 

strained  in  his  inclinations  by  his  parents,  espe 
cially  his  mother,  ran  away.  He  had  been  absent 
six  years  without  ever  being  heard  of,  and  the  dis 
consolate  parents  long  mourned  him  as  dead.  His 
return  was  therefore  hailed  with  tears  of  joy  and 
welcome :  the  father  fell  on  his  neck,  and  wept ;  the 
mother  first  scolded  him  for  running  away,  and  then 
kissed  him  till  he  was  ready  to  run  away  again.  All 
was  joy,  welcome,  and  curiosity ;  and  for  several  days 
the  prodigal  had  nothing  to  do  but  relate  his  adven 
tures.  He  had  been  to  the  North- West  Coast,  to  the 
West  Indies,  and  to  the  East;  he  had  harpooned 
whales  in  the  Frozen  Ocean,  and  caught  seals  in  the 
South  Sea ;  he  had  been  shipwrecked  on  the  coast  of 
Patagonia,  where  he  saw  giants  eight  feet  high,  and 
stranded  on  the  coast  of  Labrador,  where  he  dined  on 
raw  fish  with  pigmies  of  not  more  than  three ;  he  had 
gone  overboard  with  a  broken  yard,  and  was  taken 
up  ten  days  after,  perfectly  well,  having  lived  all  the 
while  on  rope-yarns  and  canvas ;  and  he  was  carried 
down  to  the  bottom  in  six  fathoms,  by  the  anchor, 
and  could  tell,  better  than  the  gentlemen  who  have 
lately  taken  up  the  biographies  of  dead-men-come-to- 
life,  exactly  how  a  man  felt  when  he  was  drowned. 
In  short,  he  had  seen  the  Peak  of  Teneriffe,  Mount 
^Etna  in  an  eruption,  the  Bay  of  Biscay  in  a  storm, 
and  the  sea-serpent  off  Nahant.  Of  all  the  heroes  in 
a  country  circle,  the  greatest  is  he  who  can  tell  the 
most  stories  of  wonders  of  his  own  creation.  Accord 
ingly,  our  hero,  for  such  he  is,  was  the  lion  of  the 
day,  the  wonder  of  the  men,  and  the  admiration  of 
the  ladies,  old  and  young.  One  day,  after  our  Sind- 
bad  had  been  telling  of  the  wonders  he  had  seen  and 


174  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

the  perils  he  had  encountered,  the  old  squire  suddenly 
asked, 

"  But  have  you  brought  home  any  money,  Wal 
ter  ?  " 

"  Not  a  cent,  sir." 

"  Hum  !  "  quoth  the  squire. 

The  first  Sunday  after  his  arrival,  our  hero  went  to 
church,  whither  the  fame  of  his  adventures  had  al 
ready  preceded  him.  Every  body  looked  at  him  dur 
ing  the  whole  sermon.  The  old  people  observed  how 
much  he  had  grown  since  he  was  a  boy ;  the  young 
ladies  thought  him  very  handsome  ;  and  the  young  fel 
lows  envied  him,  to  a  man.  Walter  in  his  turn  looked 
about,  with  the  air  of  a  man  unconscious  of  the  no 
tice  he  excited ;  and  after  making  the  circuit  of  the 
church  with  his  eyes,  at  length  rested  them  in  evident 
admiration  on  Phoebe  Angevine,  who  was  that  day 
dressed  in  her  best  style  and  looked  as  neat  as  a  new 
pin.  Phoebe  blushed  up  to  the  brow,  and  her  proud 
heart  swelled  in  her  bosom.  She  continued  to  steal 
occasional  looks  at  him,  and  always  found  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  her,  not  insolently,  but  with  an  air  of  en 
treaty  to  be  forgiven  the  liberty  they  were  taking. 
Poor  Ellee  had  come  that  day  to  church  with  her, 
and,  for  the  first  time  perhaps  in  her  life,  she  felt 
ashamed  of  him  and  wished  him  away,  although  he 
always  behaved  himself  better  than  some  people  who 
think  themselves  very  wise. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  country  at  the  time  I 
speak  of,  (and  I  believe  is  so  still),  for  the  congregation 
to  remain  between  the  two  services,  most  of  them 
living  too  far  off  to  go  home  and  return  in  time  for 
the  second  one.  This  interval  is  usually  spent,  by  the 


THE   DUMB   GIRL.  175 

good  pastor,  in  making  kind  inquiries  about  the  health 
and  prosperity  of  the  people ;  by  the  old  men,  in  talk 
ing  of  their  crops  and  their  prospects  ;  by  the  old  gos 
sips,  in  talking  scandal ;  and  by  the  young  folks,  in 
strolling  about  under  the  trees,  or  rambling  through  the 
church-yard,  reading  the  epitaphs,  and  looking  unut 
terable  things.  It  is  here,  amid  the  records  and  me 
morials  of  mortality,  the  suggestions  of  religion,  and 
the  mouldering  remains  of  the  departed,,  that  human 
passions,  even  among  the  best  of  us,  still  will  exercise 
their  irrepressible  influence.  Vanity  contemplates  her 
Sunday  suit  with  glances  of  lively  admiration  ;  Love 
nourishes  his  idle  dreams ;  Revenge  studies  modes  of 
gratification ;  and  Avarice  plans  schemes  requiring 
years  to  realize;  —  ay,  in  the  midst  of  a  thousand 
breathless  whispers,  that  remind  men  of  the  woful  un 
certainty  of  life ;  that  say  to  the  aged,  Your  time  is 
but  a  span;  and  to  the  young  children,  There  are 
shorter  graves  than  yours  in  the  church-yard,  and 
smaller  skulls  in  Golgotha. 

During  the  time  given  up  by  the  simple  folks  to 
this  varied  chat  and  amusement,  Phoebe  was  strolling 
about  among  the  rest,  with  the  gallant  school-master, 
and  Ellee,  of  whom  she  felt  more  ashamed  every  mo 
ment;  for  she  could  not  help  observing —  (that  is,  she 
could  not  help  every  now  and  then  casting  a  sly 
glance  at)  —  our  hero,  and  seeing  that  he  was  always 
following  her  with  his  eyes.  She  wished  poor  Ellee 
at  home,  and  the  school-master  in  his  school,  teaching 
A,  B,  C. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  young  Mr.  Avery  ?  " 
asked  the  school-master ;  "  I  don't  admire  him  much, 
for  my  part." 


176  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

Phoebe,  ail-suddenly  the  rose,  nodded  assent,  with 
that  instinctive  spirit  of  deception  which  marks  the 
beginning,  middle,  and  end  —  no,  not  the  end  —  of 
love  in  the  female  bosom.  There  is  not  a  greater 
hypocrite  in  the  world  than  a  young  and  bashful  girl, 
learning  the  first  rudiments  of  affection. 

"  Who  is  that  beautiful  girl,  in  the  white  muslin 
gown  ? "  asked  our  hero  of  a  covey  of  rural  belles, 
with  whom  he  had  become  acquainted ;  "  she  seems 
very  bashful,  for  I  have  not  seen  her  open  her 
mouth." 

The  damsels  began  to  giggle,  and  titter,  and  ex 
change  significant  looks,  which  induced  Walter  to 
ask  an  explanation. 

"  She's  dumb,"  at  length  said  one,  with  another 
suppressed  giggle,  in  which  the  others  joined.  They 
were  by  no  means  ill-natured  girls,  but  I  know  not 
how  it  was,  they  did  not  like  the  curiosity  of  our 
hero.  Women  can't  bear  curiosity  in  others,  except 
it  relates  to  their  own  particular  affairs. 

"Dumb!",  said  Walter;  "poor  girl."  Dumb, 
thought  he,  a  few  minutes  afterwards ;  so  much  the 
better.  And,  sinking  into  a  reverie,  he  asked  no  more 
questions. 

The  good  Mrs.  Angevine  stayed  from  church  that 
Sabbath,  on  account  of  a  rheumatism.  When  Phoebe 
came  home,  she  asked  her,  according  to  custom,  where 
the  text  was,  bidding  her  seek  it  out  in  the  Bible. 
Phoebe  shook  her  head,  and  looked  confused. 

"  What!  you've  forgot,  you  naughty  girl  ?  " 

Phoebe  nodded. 

"  I  dare  say  you  were  asleep,"  said  the  mother. 

Phoebe  shook  her  head. 


THE   DUMB   GIRL.  177 

"  Then  I  dare  say  you  were  gaping  at  the  young 
fellows,"  said  the  mother,  angrily. 

Phoebe  shook  her  head  more  emphatically,  and  with 
a  look  of  indignation.  There  was  too  much  truth  in 
this  last  supposition. 

"  Well,  well,"  quoth  the  mother,  "  I'm  sure  some 
thing  is  going  to  happen,  for  you  never  forgot  the  text 
before." 

Dreams,  clouds,  gypsies,  and  ghosts,  are  all  pro 
phetic  nowadays,  at  least  in  fashionable  novels ;  and 
why  may  not  this  remark  of  the  good  woman  have 
been  prophetic  too  ?  Certain  it  is,  that  something  did 
happen  before  long. 

It  was  too  or  three  days  after  this  memorable  pre 
diction,  that  young  Walter  Avery,  being  out  shoot 
ing,  and  finding  himself  thirsty,  stopped  at  the  house 
of  the  widow  Angevine  for  a  drink  of  water.  The 
good  dame  asked  him  in  to  rest  himself,  which  invi 
tation  he  accepted,  and  staid  almost  an  hour,  during 
which  time  he  talked  to  the  mother,  and  looked  at  the 
daughter.  In  going  away,  he  shook  poor  Ellee  by 
the  hand,  as  an  excuse  for  doing  the  same  to  Phoebe, 
which  he  did  with  a  certain  lingering,  gentle,  yet  em 
phatic  pressure,  that  made  her  blood  come  and  go  on 
errands  from  her  heart  to  her  face.  Phoebe  thought  of 
this  gentle  pressure  with  throbbing  pulses,  and  poor 
Ellee  was  as  proud  as  a  peacock,  at  shaking  hands 
with  such  a  smart  young  gentleman. 

From  this  time  forth  no  one  ever  came  to  the  house 
without  being  obliged  to  shake  hands  with  him  half 
a  dozen  times.  With  that  strange  sagacity  and 
quickness  of  observation  which  frequently  accom 
pany  the  absence  of  reason,  he  had  marked  the  ex- 

12 


178  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

pression  of  Phoebe's  face  when  Walter  Avery  looked 
at  her  and  took  her  hand;  and  he  made  her  blush 
often  afterwards  by  a  grotesque  imitation  of  his  man 
ner.  "  Stop  in  again  when  you  come  this  way,"  cried 
the  old  dame,  highly  pleased  with  Walter's  particular 
notice  of  every  thing  she  said.  Walter  was  highly 
flattered,  and  assured  her  he  would  come  that  way 
often.  At  parting,  he  gave  Phoebe  a  look  that  kept 
her  awake  half  that  night. 

"  Didn't  I  say  something  was  going  to  happen,  last 
Sunday,  when  you  forgot  the  text  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Ange- 
vine.  Phoebe  was  watching  to  see  whether  Walter 
would  turn  to  look  back  as  he  wound  round  an  angle 
of  the  road,  and  took  no  notice  of  what  the  good 
woman  said ;  so  she  continued  talking  on  to  herself, 
for  want  of  somebody  else  to  listen. 

"  Something  has  happened,"  thought  Phoebe,  with  a 
sigh,  as  Walter,  in  turning  the  angle,  kissed  his  hand 
to  her,  and  disappeared.  The  rest  of  the  day  she  was 
so  idle  that  her  mother  scolded  her  roundly.  The  in 
ertness  of  new-born  passion  was  gradually  crawling 
over  her,  and  she  more  than  ever  regretted  the  des 
truction  of  Pamela  by  the  sacrilegious  hand  of  Ellee. 

From  this  time  Walter  was  out  every  day,  shoot 
ing,  and,  (what  the  old  woman  thought  rather  singu 
lar),  he  always  grew  thirsty  about  the  time  of  passing 
her  door.  "  It  is  worth  while  to  go  a  mile  out  of  the 
way  to  get  a  drink  of  such  water,"  would  he  say, 
though  it  tasted  a  little  of  iron,  and  was  not  the  cool 
est  in  the  world.  While  the  mother  was  attending  to 
household  affairs,  Walter  talked  to  Phoebe,  and  she 
answered  him  with  her  eyes.  But  as  there  are  cer 
tain  little  promises  and  engagements,  requiring  more 


THE   DUMB   GIRL.  179 

specific  replies  than  even  the  brightest  eyes  can  give, 
he  one  day  made  her  a  present  of  a  silver  pencil  and 
a  pocket-book,  in  which  she  sometimes  made  her  re 
sponses  in  writing. 

Many  opportunities  occurred  for  nourishing  the 
growing  passion  of  the  poor  girl,  notwithstanding 
the  perpetual  intrusions  of  Ellee,  who  had  taken  a 
great  fancy  to  Walter  ever  since  he  gave  him  the 
friendly  shake  of  the  hand.  This  had  gone  directly 
to  his  heart;  for  he  seldom  received  such  an  atten 
tion,  except  from  my  kind-hearted  old  uncle.  He 
never  met  Walter,  without  going  up,  making  a 
strange,  grotesque  bow,  and  shaking  him  by  the  hand 
most  emphatically.  Walter  sometimes  wished  him 
in  the  Red  Sea,  for  he  interfered  with  his  designs, 
and,  unknowingly,  often  proved  the  guardian  genius 
of  his  sister.  If  they  sometimes  stole  a  march  upon 
him,  and  wandered  along  the  little  river  Byram  which 
skirted  the  foot  of  the  neighbouring  hills,  it  was  sel 
dom  but  Ellee  found  them  out,  with  the  instinct  of 
a  pointer;  when  he  would  come  running  up,  with  a 
chuckling  laugh  at  his  cleverness,  and  extend  to  mas 
ter  Walter  the  customary  greeting  of  his  paw. 

Yet  they  had  their  moments  of  solitude  and  silence, 
such  as  innocent  lovers  cherish  as  the  brightest  of 
their  lives  and  deceivers  seize  upon  for  the  attainment 
of  their  object.  In  the  wicked  twilight  of  the  quiet 
woods,  the  purest  heart  sometimes  swells  with  the 
boiling  eddies  of  a  youthful  fancy ;  and  it  is  there  that 
the  modest  woman  is  won  to  the  permission  of  little 
freedoms  and  progressive  endearments,  which,  if  not 
checked  in  time,  are  only  atoned  for  by  the  tears  of  a 
whole  life.  Phoebe  became  gradually  absorbed  in  the 


180  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

all-devouring  passion.  She  could  not  relieve  her 
heart  and  express  her  feelings  in  speech,  and  thus  they 
preyed  upon  her  almost  to  suffocation.  There  is  no 
reason  to  doubt  her  entire  conviction  that  Walter 
intended  to  marry  her,  for  he  had  told  her  so  a  thou 
sand  times. 

Rumour,  like  Echo,  loves  to  abide  among  the  rocks 
and  dells,  where  she  delights  to  blow  her  horn,  the 
signal  of  awakening  to  a  thousand  babbling  tongues. 
Rumours  and  scandals  now  began  to  circulate  among 
the  neighbours,  all  to  the  disadvantage  of  Phoebe.  It 
was  nonsense  to  suppose  Walter  intended  to  marry  a 
dumb  girl,  and  one  so  poor  as  she.  His  father  was 
the  richest  man  in  the  county,  and  he  an  only  son.  It 
was  impossible. 

"  Nobody  can  believe  it,  in  her  right  senses,"  cried 
Mrs.  Toosy. 

"  The  girl  must  be  a  fool ! ",  cried  Mrs.  Ratsbane, 
"  or  something  worse." 

"  I  thought  what  would  come  of  her  fine  clothes 
and  foolish  books,"  cried  Mrs.  Dolan. 

"  And  then>  the  silver  pencil,"  cried  Mrs.  Nolan. 

"  And  the  morocco  pocket-book  —  people  don't  give 
these  things  for  nothing,"  cried  Mrs.  Dollinger. 

"  The  mother  must  be  mad  to  think  of  such  a 
thing,"  cried  Mrs.  Fadladdle. 

"  The  girl  is  no  better  than  she  should  be,"  cried 
Mrs.  Doorise. 

"  She  is  certainly  a  good-for-nothing  cretur,"  cried 
Mrs.  Cackle. 

"  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us !,  what  is  this  world 
coming  to  ? "  cried  Mrs.  Skimpey,  with  upturned 
eyes :  "  it  puts  me  in  mind  of —  I  don't  know  what." 


THE   DUMB   GIRL.  181 

"  Heigho ! "  cried  Mrs.  Fubsy,  taking  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  with  a  deep  sigh;  —  "it  puts  me  in  mind  of 
Joseph  in  Egypt." 

"  Well,  after  all,  let  us  hope  for  the  best,"  cried  Mrs. 
Daisy. 

"  Amen ! "  answered  they  all ;  and  thereupon  the 
tea-party  broke  up,  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
Women  are  in  fact  ill-natured  toads,  especially  to 
wards  each  other,  but  they  make  it  up  in  kindness  to 
us  bachelors.  There  is  good  reason  why  they  should 
be  intolerant  to  certain  transgressions  of  the  sex. 
Vice  thrives  apace  where  it  carries  with  it  no  other 
penalty  than  that  denounced  by  the  laws.  It  is  the 
inquest,  the  censure,  the  terrible  verdict  of  the  society 
in  which  we  live  and  move  and  have  our  very  being, 
that  constitutes  the  severest  punishment;  and  it  be 
hooves  women  to  be  inflexible  in  visiting  sins,  that, 
if  they  were  to  become  common,  would  degrade  them 
from  divinities  into  slaves  —  from  the  chosen  com 
panions  of  man  to  the  abject  ministers  of  his  pleas 
ures.  As  yet,  however,  the  censures  of  our  tea-party 
were  premature.  Phoebe  was  innocent,  though  on  the 
brink  of  a  precipice. 

At  length  Mrs.  Ratsbane  thought  it  her  duty,  as  a 
neighbour  and  a  Christian,  to  open  the  whole  matter 
to  the  mother  of  our  hero,  who  forthwith  reported 
it  to  the  squire.  Not  that  she  thought  or  meant  he 
should  take  any  steps  in  the  affair ;  —  (she  was  a  re 
markable,  a  very  remarkable  woman,  such  a  woman 
as  we  doubt  if  the  world  ever  produced  before  or  ever 
will  again) ;  —  for  it  was  her  maxim,  that,  as  women 
could  have  no  wills  when  they  died,  it  was  but  fair 
they  should  have  their  wills  during  their  lives.  Never 


182  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

woman  stuck  closer  to  her  favourite  axiom,  as  the  jus 
tice,  were  he  living,  could  testify.  The  name  of  this 
puissant  magistrate  was  Hezekiah  Lord  Avery,  but 
his  neighbours  usually  called  him  Lord  Avery,  a  name 
which  I  shall  adopt  in  order  to  give  dignity  to  my  story. 
It  is  very  seldom  an  American  writer  gets  so  good  an 
opportunity  of  ennobling  his  pages.  His  lordship  was 
a  silent  man  in  the  presence  of  his  wife,  but  a  great 
talker  every  where  else,  especially  when  sitting  on 
the  bench,  at  which  times  he  would  never  suffer  any 
body  to  speak  a  word  but  himself;  for  such  was 
his  astonishing  sagacity  that  he  always  knew  what  a 
suitor  was  going  to  say,  before  he  opened  his  mouth. 
The  only  man  that  ever  got  the  better  of  him  was 
a  little  pestilent  lawyer  of  the  township,  who  once 
spoke  eight  hours  on  a  point  of  law,  which,  though 
it  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  case,  involved  a  great 
principle  ;  whereupon  the  people  sent  him  to  Con 
gress.  Lord  Avery  was  a  man  of  great  substance, 
partly  derived  from  his  father,  and  partly  of  his 
own  acquisition ;  for  he  was  what  is  called  a  lucky 
man.  If  there  happened  a  drought  all  over  the  coun 
try  that  raised  the  price  of  wheat,  Lord  Avery  was 
sure  to  have  a  redundant  harvest ;  if  apples  were 
scarce,  his  orchards  groaned  with  fruit;  if  he  sold  any 
thing  it  was  sure  to  fall  in  price,  and  if  he  bought  it 
was  as  certain  to  rise.  In  short,  he  was  the  Midas 
of  modern  times,  and  even  his  blunders  turned  to 
gold.  He  had  a  neighbour,  his  exact  opposite  —  a 
sensible,  calculating  man,  who  was  always  giving  ad 
vice  to  his  lordship,  but  without  effect.  This  worthy 
but  unfortunate  man  never  undertook  any  thing  with 
out  the  most  mature  deliberation,  nor  without  con- 


THE   DUMB   GIRL.  183 

suiting  every  body.  One  year,  observing  that  all  his 
neighbours  were  planting  a  more  than  usual  quantity 
of  corn,  he  sagely  concluded  that  there  would  be  a 
glut  in  the  market,  and  planted  great  fields  of  pota 
toes.  About  harvest-time  the  news  of  a  failure  of 
crops  in  Europe  came,  and  doubled  the  price  of  corn, 
while  the  good  man's  potatoes  stood  stock  still.  Lord 
Avery  had  gone  on  without  caring  a  straw  about 
what  his  neighbours  were  doing,  and  reaped  a  swinge 
ing  harvest.  The  calculator  was  obliged  to  buy  corn 
of  his  lordship,  who  took  occasion  to  crack  a  joke  on 
his  foresight. 

"  An  ounce  of  luck  is  worth  a  pound  of  understand 
ing,"  replied  the  long-headed  man. 

It  is  well  it  was,  for  his  lordship  had  plenty  of  one 
and  very  little  of  the  other. 

Lord  Avery  loved  his  son  Walter  for  two  especial 
reasons;  he  was  his  only  son,  and  he  told  the  most 
entertaining  stories  in  the  world.  Her  ladyship,  im 
mediately  on  receiving  the  information  from  Mrs. 
Ratsbane,  sought  her  lord,  and  poured  it  all  into  his 
ear,  with  additions. 

"  I  will"  —  quoth  Lord  Avery  in  a  passion. 

"  You  will!"  cried  her  ladyship,  contemptuously  — 
"  your  will  is  in  the  cherry-tree." 

"  Well,  well,  it  is  my  opinion,"  said  he,  perfectly  cool. 

"  Your  opinion!  —  how  often  have  I  told  you,  you 
have  no  opinion  of  your  own  ?  " 

"  No  opinion  of  my  own  —  a  justice  have  no  opin- 
of  his  own ! "  thought  he. 

"Well,  then,  I  think"  — 

"  Think !  —  how  often  have  I  told  you,  there  is  no 
use  in  your  thinking  ?  " 


184  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

"  Not  much!  "  thought  his  lordship,  adding, 

"Well  then,  ray  dear,  I  say  —  that  is,  I  think  — 
that  is,  I  am  of  opinion  —  my  dear,  what  is  your 
opinion  of  the  matter  ?  " 

"  My  opinion  is,  that  you  had  better  say  nothing  on 
the  subject." 

"  What  did  you  come  and  tell  me  of  it  for  ?  ",  asked 
his  lordship,  a  little  nettled. 

There  is  a  pleasant  story,  that  the  secret  of  Midas* 
having  asses'  ears  was  finally  discovered  by  his  barber, 
who,  unable  to  contain  himself,  at  length  communi 
cated  it  to  the  earth,  whence  soon  after  sprung  up 
certain  reeds,  that  whispered  it  to  the  four  winds, 
which  blabbed  it  all  over  the  world.  Her  ladyship 
had  never  heard  this  story,  but  told  hers  to  his  lord 
ship  for  the  same  reason  the  barber  whispered  his  to 
the  earth.  She  wanted  somebody  to  listen,  not  talk, 
to  her. 

"  What  did  I  tell  it  to  you  for  ?  ",  at  length  replied 
her  ladyship,  after  a  puzzling  pause ;  "  are  you  not 
his  father?" 

"  I  wish  I  was  his  mother! ",  quoth  his  lordship. 

"  If  you  were,  you'd  be  twice  the  man  you  are  at 
present,"  retorted  her  ladyship.  "  But,  what  do  you 
mean  to  do?"  Her  ladyship  always  asked  his  advice, 
which  she  as  invariably  took  by  the  rule  of  contrary. 

"Why,  I  mean  to  disinherit  him,  if"  —  said  his 
lordship,  pompously. 

"  You  disinherit  him! — you  shall  do  no  such  thing." 

"  Why,  then,  I'll  make  him  marry  the  girl." 

"Marry  her!"  screamed  her  ladyship  —  "why,  the 
creature  is  dumb!" 

"  Hum !  ",  said  Lord  Avery ;  "  I  don't  think  that 
any  mighty  objection." 


THE   DUMB   GIRL.  185 

"  Her  brother  is  an  idiot." 

"  Poor  fellow,  I'm  sorry  for  him." 

"  Her  mother  is  a  fool." 

"  There  are  plenty  to  keep  her  in  countenance." 

"  You're  enough  to  provoke  a  saint." 

"  How  should  you  know  ?  "  quoth  Lord  Avery, 
whose  mind  was  wandering  a  little  from  the  subject. 
Her  ladyship  insisted  this  was  as  much  as  telling  her 
she  was  no  saint,  and  thereupon  made  her  exit  in  hys 
terics.  And  thus  the  consultation  ended. 

The  next  time  Lord  Avery  saw  his  son,  he  ques 
tioned  him  on  the  subject  of  Phoebe,  and  received  his 
solemn  assurance  of  her  innocence.  The  good  man 
believed  him,  but  the  lady  maintained  its  impossi 
bility. 

"  Why,  how  do  you  know  it  is  impossible  ?  ",  said 
his  lordship. 

"  By  experience,"  answered  the  lady. 

"  Hum,"  —  quoth  his  lordship. 

Her  ladyship,  finding  herself  in  a  dilemma,  made 
her  retreat,  as  usual,  and  fell  into  hysterics. 

"  Walter,"  said  his  lordship,  who  talked  like  an  ora 
tor  in  the  absence  of  his  wife,  "  Walter,  you  must 
not  think  of  marrying  this  poor  dumb  girl." 

"  I  don't  mean  to,"  said  Walter,  with  a  sly  look. 

"  Ah!  you  wicked  dog  ! "quoth  his  lordship  ;  —  "but 
mind  you  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself." 

"  Never  fear,  I  only  mean  to  make  a  fool  of  the 
girl." 

"  Ah !  Walter,  you're  a  chip  of  the  old  block",  said 
his  lordship,  complacently.  "  But  I'm  glad  to  find 
you  don't  mean  to  disgrace  your  family." 

That  worthy  and  gallant  bachelor,  the  school-master, 


186  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

came  to  caution  Phcebe,  and  spoke  like  an  oracle  of 
the  improbability  that  the  only  son  of  Lord  Avery 
should  marry,  or  be  permitted  to  marry,  the  daughter 
of  an  "  old  continental,"  in  her  situation.  He  then 
took  leave;  but,  being  moved  by  her  tears,  left  with 
her  a  new  novel,  in  which  the  rustic  heroine  becomes 
a  duchess.  Phoebe  wept  for  an  hour  after  he  went 
away,  at  the  end  of  which  she  opened  the  book,  and 
soon  lost  herself  in  the  extravagances  of  sentiment 
and  fiction. 

Matters  went  on  for  some  time  after  this  in  the 
usual  way ;  the  lovers  took  long  walks  together,  and 
the  neighbourhood  held  long  talks.  Her  ladyship 
scolded,  and  his  lordship  very  discreetly  held  his  peace 
at  home,  consoling  himself  by  making  as  much  noise 
as  possible  abroad.  All  of  a  sudden,  however,  Phoebe 
became  very  sad ;  and  was  observed  to  weep  bitterly 
whenever  Walter  came  to  see  her,  which  was  not  now 
as  often  as  before.  She  refused  to  accompany  him 
any  more  in  walks  through  the  woods,  or  along  the 
banks  of  the  Byram  ;  and  he  would  go  away  in  a  pas 
sion,  threatening  never  to  see  her  again.  Poor  Ellee 
watched  her,  as  a  faithful  dog  watches  the  looks  of 
his  master ;  and  it  was  apparent  that  he  could  see 
she  was  unhappy,  though  he  only  remotely  compre 
hended  the  cause.  He  no  longer,  however,  shook 
hands  with  Walter ;  and  when  he  went  away,  leav 
ing  Phcebe  in  tears,  would  sit  down  by  her  side,  take 
hold  of  her  hand,  kiss  it,  and  utter  his  mournful  mu 
sic.  He  never  shed  tears ;  for  nature,  though  she  had 
given  him  feelings,  had  denied  him  the  means  of  ex 
pressing  them  except  by  gestures  and  moanings.  It 
was  an  aching  sight  to  see  these  two  poor  bereaved 


THE   DUMB   GIRL.  187 

beings  thus  suffering  together,  without  the  power  of 
alleviating  their  sorrows,  except  by  the  silent  sympa 
thy  of  expressive  actions  and  speaking  looks.  This 
sympathy  was  not  shared  by  the  mother,  whom  age 
and  toil  had  rendered  callous  to  all  the  ills  of  life,  ex 
cept  poverty  and  sickness.  If  she  took  particular 
notice  of  Phoebe,  it  was  to  flout  her  for  her  idleness, 
or  sneer  at  her  grand  lover ;  for  the  hints  and  tales  of 
the  neighbours  had  soured  her  mind  towards  her 
daughter,  and  infected  her  with  strange  suspicions. 

One  day  Phoebe  received  a  little  billet,  and,  shortly 
afterwards,  having  contrived  to  evade  the  notice  of 
Ellee,  was  seen  to  bend  her  course  towards  a  retired 
spot,  distant  from  any  habitation.  It  was  here  she 
had  often  met  Walter,  and,  while  leaning  on  his 
bosom,  tasted  the  joys  of  an  innocent  love,  ripening 
into  a  consuming  flame.  A  high  rock  gloomed  over 
the  bank  of  the  river,  as  it  whirled  violently  round  a 
sharp  angle,  deep  and  turbid.  Within  the  angle,  and 
close  under  the  side  of  the  rock,  was  a  little  green 
sward,  shadowed  by  lofty  sycamores,  and  shut  in  on 
all  sides,  by  the  perpendicular  cliff,  the  mountain  in 
the  rear,  and  the  brawling  torrent  in  front.  It  was  a 
scene  made  for  love,  and  it  might  easily  be  desecrated 
to  a  more  malignant  passion.  Ellee  followed  his  sis 
ter,  as  usual  when  he  found  she  was  gone ;  and,  after 
an  absence  of  perhaps  two  hours,  came  home  without 
her,  in  a  state  of  terrible  agitation.  He  motioned 
with  his  hands ;  he  ran  to  and  fro ;  pointed  towards 
the  spot  I  have  described,  and  attempted  to  drag  his 
mother  violently  in  that  direction,  gnashing  his  teeth 
and  actually  foaming  at  the  mouth  all  the  while.  At 
length  he  sat  down  in  a  corner,  and  commenced  that 


188  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

strange  melancholy  moaning  which  was  the  only 
sound  he  ever  uttered.  Labour  and  poverty  harden 
the  heart.  The  mother  thought  strange  of  this  beha 
viour  at  first;  but  she  was  busy  at  work,  and  her 
mind  became  gradually  drawn  off  from  the  poor  boy. 

My  uncle  and  myself  happened  to  come  riding  by 
at  this  moment;  and  no  sooner  did  Ellee  perceive  us, 
than  he  darted  out,  seized  my  uncle's  bridle,  and, 
pointing  with  convulsive  rapidity  first  to  the  house 
and  then  to  the  river,  concluded  his  dumb-show  by 
the  customary  moan.  Assured  that  something  un 
common  had  taken  place,  we  alighted,  and  went  into 
the  house,  where  we  found  the  old  woman  so  busily 
engaged  that  she  had  not  been  aware  of  our  coming. 
Ellee  followed  us  in,  hung  upon  our  steps,  watched 
every  movement,  and  fixed  so  strained  an  eye  upon 
the  motion  of  our  lips,  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  ex 
pected  to  translate  their  very  movements.  On  inquir 
ing  what  was  the  matter,  the  good  woman  related  all 
she  knew;  but  did  not  seem  to  think  any  thing  ex 
traordinary  had  happened.  It  was  otherwise  with 
my  uncle  and  myself,  who  determined  to  go  under  the 
guidance  of  Ellee,  and  see  what  had  become  of  his 
sister.  As  soon  as  we  mounted  our  horses  and  turned 
them  towards  the  stream,  the  idiot-boy  seemed  to 
understand  our  object.  He  again  began  his  furi 
ous  gesticulations ;  gnashed  his  teeth,  foamed  at  the 
mouth,  and,  sinking  as  usual  into  a  low  and  plaintive 
quaver,  ran  with  all  his  might  riverward,  stopping  at 
times  to  see  if  we  were  coming,  and  beckoning  us  ea 
gerly  to  follow. 

It  was  now  verging  towards  the  sunset  of  a  long 
day  in  the  month  of  June.  Ellee  led  us  to  the  place 


THE   DUMB   GIRL.  189 

where  the  river  rolled  rapidly  around  the  sharp  angle 
of  the  rock,  and  there  again  made  the  most  violent 
motions.  He  pointed  to  the  roots  of  an  old  branch 
ing  sycamore,  then  twined  his  arms  about  my  body 
and  kissed  me,  then  wrung  his  hands  and  imitated 
weeping  as  well  as  he  could,  and  finally  ran  moaning 
to  the  river's  bank,  and,  making  as  if  he  would  cast 
himself  in,  howled  most  piteously,  while  he  pointed  to 
the  deep  current  rolling  past. 

These  significant  actions  naturally  awakened  in 
our  minds  the  most  fearful  suspicions.  We  examined 
the  spot  with  minute  attention.  On  the  bark  of  the 
old  tree  appeared  the  initials,  P.  A.  and  W.  A.,  ap 
parently  but  just  cut;  and,  at  the  root,  the  grass 
seemed  to  us  to  exhibit  traces  of  two  persons  having 
been  sitting  there  very  lately,  side-by-side.  A  little 
blood  was  sprinkled  on  one  of  the  projecting  roots  of 
the  tree,  and  a  piece  of  paper  was  picked  up,  crum 
pled  together  and  stained  with  blood.  On  examining 
it  more  particularly,  there  were  found  upon  it,  writ 
ten  with  a  pencil,  some  words  in  the  handwriting,  (as 
it  afterwards  appeared),  of  Walter  Avery,  that  seemed 
to  form  part  of  an  invitation  to  meet  him  somewhere 
or  other.  While  this  scrutiny  was  going  on,  poor 
Ellee  accompanied  us  with  intense  interest,  and 
watched  our  looks,  apparently  to  gather  the  impres 
sion  made  on  our  minds  by  these  circumstances.  By 
this  time  it  was  growing  dark,  and  we  quitted  the 
place,  notwithstanding  the  violent  opposition  of  Ellee, 
with  a  determination  to  pursue  the  investigation  next 
morning,  if,  on  inquiry,  it  was  found  that  Phoebe  had 
not  returned. 

She  did  not  return  that  night,  nor  did  she  make  her 


190  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

appearance  the  next  morning.  We  accordingly  again 
proceeded  to  the  spot  whither  Ellee  had  before  di 
rected  us,  accompanied  by  several  of  the  neighbours, 
and  continued  our  examination.  Nothing  more  was 
observed  that  could  throw  light  on  the  affair,  though 
the  river  was  closely  searched  upon  both  banks  for 
some  miles  below.  The  general  conclusion  was,  that 
she  had  been  made  away  with  in  some  way  or  other, 
and  suspicion  fell  strongly  upon  Walter  Avery.  The 
notoriety  of  his  courtship  to  Phoebe,  the  circumstance 
of  the  fragment  of  the  note,  and  the  fact  that  he  had 
been  seen  going  towards  the  spot  where  it  was  found, 
all  combined,  seemed  to  bring  the  fact  of  murder,  if 
not  home  to  him,  yet  close  to  his  door. 

The  conduct  of  Ellee  corroborated  these  suspicions. 
Whenever  by  any  chance  he  encountered  Walter,  his 
rage  was  ungovernable  ;  he  would  assail  him  violently 
with  stones,  or,  when  occasion  offered,  lay  hold  of  him 
with  all  the  violence  of  infuriate  madness,  tearing  his 
clothes,  biting,  scratching,  kicking,  and  foaming  at  the 
mouth,  with  a  bitterness  of  rage  and  antipathy  he 
never  exhibited  towards  any  other  person.  Rumours 
gathered  strength  every  day;  each  one  compared 
notes,  and  each  had  some  circumstance  of  his  own  to 
communicate,  that  added  to  the  mass  of  presump 
tions.  A  legal  inquiry  was  at  length  instituted ;  but 
the  dumb  testimony  of  Ellee  was  so  vague  and  un 
satisfactory,  that  the  grand-jury,  while  in  their  hearts 
they  believed  Walter  guilty,  declined  to  find  an  indict 
ment.  Still,  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  neighbourhood, 
Walter  was  a  convicted  murderer  and  seducer.  He 
escaped  the  judgment  of  the  law,  but  the  verdict  of 
society  condemned  him.  He  stood,  a  marked  man, 


THE   DUMB   GIRL.  191 

avoided  by  all,  feared  and  hated  by  all ;  in  the  midst 
of  society  he  was  alone,  and  he  sought  to  be  alone. 
It  seemed  as  if  he  did  not  like  to  look  in  the  face  of 
any  human  being;  and  the  quick  apprehension  with 
which  he  turned  his  eye,  when  it  met  the  glance  of 
others,  appeared  to  indicate  that  he  feared  they  might 
behold  the  reflection  of  his  crime  in  that  mirror  of  his 
soul. 

Time  passed  on,  carrying,  as  usual,  on  the  bosom 
of  his  mighty  stream,  the  wrecks  of  men  and  things. 

The  old  lord,  who  never  since  the  absence  of  Phoebe 
had  once  called  Walter  "  a  chip  of  the  old  block,"  dis 
appeared  from  this  world  in  the  fullness  of  years.  His 
good-fortune  followed  him  to  the  last,  for  he  sent  for 
a  physician  who  could  not  come,  and  thereby  escaped 
the  persecutions  of  the  seven  sciences,  and  died  of  the 
disease  instead  of  the  doctor.  His  wife  soon  fol 
lowed  ;  for  it  would  seem  that  the  lives  of  old  people, 
who  have  lived  together  a  long  while,  become  inter 
twined.  Too  weak,  as  it  were,  for  self-support,  they 
lean  upon  each  other  in  the  down-hill  course,  and, 
like  Jack  and  Gill,  when  one  falls,  the  other  comes 
"  tumbling  after."  About  the  same  time,  or  a  little 
later,  for  my  memory  is  now  grown  somewhat  indis 
tinct,  the  mother  of  Phoebe  likewise  departed  this  life; 
and  poor  Ellee  was  taken  to  my  uncle's  house,  where 
he  remained  for  the  rest  of  his  days,  exhibiting,  in  his 
profound  devotion  to  his  benefactor,  a  libel  on  human 
reason,  which  ought  to  hide  its  head  in  shame,  when 
told  that  dogs  and  idiots  transcend  it  in  gratitude. 
He  died  of  a  sort  of  premature  old  age,  about  three 
years  subsequently. 

Walter  Avery,  after  the  lapse  of  several  years  of 


192  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

gloomy  retirement,  married  a  woman  who  thought  his 
wealth  a  counterpoise  to  his  delinquencies.  Both 
lived  to  repent  this  union.  He  was  a  misanthrope, 
and  she  a  shrew.  The  days  of  Walter  were  days  of 
bitterness,  his  nights  were  nights  of  horror.  It  seemed 
as  if  guilt  had  unmanned  him  entirely.  He  was 
afraid  to  be  alone  in  the  dark ;  the  rattling  of  the 
shutters  made  him  start;  the  howling  of  the  winds, 
the  rolling  of  the  thunder,  every  shooting-star,  and 
every  ordinary  phenomenon  of  nature,  seemed  to  him 
the  menacing  of  Heaven's  wralh,  the  forerunner  of 
something  dreadful.  He  became  %the  slave  of  con 
science  and  superstition  combined,  and  never  knew 
a  night  of  tranquil  and  unbroken  rest.  Awake,  he 
lay  perspiring  in  vague  indefinite  horrors ;  and  sleep 
ing,  he  rolled  from  side  to  side,  muttering  unintelligi 
ble  words,  and  moans  that  seemed  to  rend  his  very 
vitals.  Guilt  and  remorse  are  the  parents  of  super 
stition.  Walter  became  a  believer  in  dreams ;  as  if 
the  gracious  Being  whose  attribute  is  truth  would 
condescend  to  convey  his  intimations  through  what, 
ninety-nine  times  in  a  hundred,  is  only  the  medium 
of  irreconcilable  falsehoods  and  contradictory  absurdi 
ties.  The  impression  uppermost  in  his  mind  was  his 
crime.  The  figure  of  Phoebe  was  ever  present  to 
his  waking  hours;  —  what  wonder,  then,  if  it  haunt 
ed  his  dreams?  Some  little  coincidences  served  to 
frighten  him  into  a  belief  that  they  were  more  than 
accidental ;  and  he  gradually  became  a  victim  to  the 
most  abject  superstition.  In  the  gloom  and  silence 
of  night,  a  thousand  fantastic  illusions  preyed  upon 
his  guilty  soul ;  and,  when  he  shut  his  eyes,  perpetual 
phantasmagoria  of  shapeless  monsters  danced  before 


THE   DUMB   GIEL.  193 

him,  grinning  in  horrid  deformity  unlike  to  any  human 
form,  or  wearing  the  well-remembered  visage  of 
Phoebe,  sometimes  pale  sad  and  death-like,  at  others 
distorted  by  the  most  malignant  and  diabolical  pas 
sions. 

By  degrees,  as  his  mind  and  body  became  gradually 
weakened  by  being  thus  constantly  assailed,  a  firm 
conviction  fastened  itself  on  his  imagination,  that  this 
besetting  phantasy  was  a  malignant  fiend,  empowered 
by  a  just  Providence  to  assume  the  shape  of  his  vic 
tim,  to  punish  him  for  his  crime.  He  never  had  a 
child  by  his  wife,  who  at  length  died ;  and  that  night 
the  figure  of  Phoebe  appeared  to  him  as  usual,  point 
ing  to  a  leaf  in  the  pocket-book  he  had  given  her, 
which  bore  these  words :  — "  You  shall  see  me  once 
more." 

Not  long  after  this,  he  was  sitting  on  his  piazza  in 
the  summer  twilight,  drinking  the  very  dregs  of  mis 
ery,  when  he  was  roused  by  a  little  boy,  about  six  or 
eight  years  old,  who  stood  weeping  before  him. 

"  What  do  you  want,  sir  ?  "  cried  Walter,  with  the 
impatience  common  to  his  state  of  mind. 

"  I  want  my  mother,"  answered  the  boy,  weeping 
bitterly. 

"  You  fool !  I  am  not  your  mother.  She  is  not 
here." 

"  I  know  it,  sir ;  but  she  sent  me  to  you." 

«  For  what,  boy  ?  " 

"  To  bring  you  a  letter  and  some  things,  sir,"  said 
the  boy,  handing  him  at  the  same  time  a  soiled  note. 

Walter  opened  the  note.  It  contained  only  two 
words :  "  Your  son."  And  it  was  signed,  "  Phoebe 
Angevine." 

13 


194  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

Walter  was  half-insensible  for  a  moment.  Then, 
seizing  the  boy's  hand,  he  asked,  eagerly,  when  and 
where  he  got  that  letter. 

"  My  mother  gave  it  me  this  morning,"  said  the 
child. 

"  O  God ! "  cried  "Walter ;  "  I  am  not  then  a  mur 
derer."  And  his  hard  heart  melted  for  once  into  grat 
itude  to  Heaven.  His  next  impulse  was  to  catch  the 
boy's  hand,  and  study  his  face,  where  he  saw,  as  he 
thought,  the  sparkling  eye  and  glossy  ringlets  of  his 
ruined  mother ;  and  he  hugged  him  in  his  arms,  and 
wept  delicious  tears.  The  boy  did  not  altogether  de 
cline  these  endearments,  but  seemed  hardly  to  under 
stand  them. 

"  I  am  your  father,"  said  Walter,  at  length. 

"  What  is  a  father  ? "  said  the  boy.  "  Is  it  any 
thing  like  my  mother  ?  " 

?  Not  much,"  answered  the  other ;  and  hid  his  face 
with  his  hands. 

"  No,"  said  the  boy,  "  I  might  have  known  that ; 
my  mother  never  spoke  to  me  —  she  only  kissed  me ; 
but  I  knew  what  she  meant.  Oh,  I  had  almost  for 
got;  she  told  me,  with  her  fingers,  to  give  you  these." 
And  he  handed  a  small  package. 

This  Walter  opened.  It  contained  the  silver  pen 
cil-case  and  little  pocket-book  he  had  given  to  Phoebe. 

"  Enough,"  said  he ;  "  come  in  to  your  father's 
home : "  and  he  led  him  by  the  hand  into  his  house. 

That  evening  he  questioned  the  boy  closely  as  to 
where  and  how  he  had  lived,  and  where  his  mother 
had  left  him  in  the  morning ;  for  now  he  was  deter 
mined  to  seek  her,  bring  her  to  his  home,  and  make 
her  all  the  amends  in  his  power. 


THE   DUMB   GIRL.  195 

"  You  will  find  it  all  there,"  answered  the  boy, 
pointing  to  the  pocket-book.  On  opening  it,  he  found 
it  almost  filled  with  writing,  some  of  which  was  nearly 
illegible. 

"  I  am  hungry,  and  sleepy,"  said  the  boy. 

Walter  had  supper  brought  him,  which  he  ate  vora 
ciously  ;  and,  being  placed  in  Walter's  bed,  he  fell  into 
a  sweet  and  balmy  sleep,  such  as  that  bed  had  been  a 
stranger  to  for  years. 

Walter  then  proceeded  to  make  out,  as  well  as  he 
could,  the  contents  of  the  pocket-book.  It  was  a 
wretched  scrawl,  full  of  details  of  misery.  Connected, 
and  in  my  own  words,  it  ran  as  follows :  — 

It  seems,  that,  on  the  day  Phoebe  disappeared,  she 
had  arrived  at  the  trysting-place  some  time  before  her 
seducer;  and,  while  waiting,  had  carved  their  initials  on 
the  bark  of  the  old  sycamore.  In  doing  this  she  cut 
her  finger,  and  wrapped  up  the  wound  in  a  piece  of 
the  note  he  had  sent  her,  requesting  a  meeting. 
When  he  came,  she  had  in  every  way  through  which 
she  could  make  herself  understood,  pressed  him  to 
make  her  amends  for  the  shame  he  had  brought  upon 
her.  He  had  replied  only  by  lascivious  toyings  and 
attempts  to  obtain  new  favours.  Indignant  at  this, 
the  poor  girl  was  running  away,  when  he  seized  her, 
just  on  the  borders  of  the  rapid  river.  A  struggle 
ensued.  Phoebe  at  length,  through  rage  and  despair, 
threw  herself  into  the  stream,  just  as  Ellee,  who  had 
as  usual  followed  her,  came  up;  while  he,  forgetting 
in  his  rage  the  situation  of  his  sister,  furiously  assailed 
Walter,  and  prevented  him  from  affording  her  any 
assistance.  She  floated  down  the  stream,  kept  up  by 
her  clothes  and  the  force  of  the  current,  till  she  be- 


196  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

came  entangled  in  the  thick  boughs  of  a  tuft  of  dwarf- 
willows,  that,  as  is  common  with  this  kind  of  tree, 
bent  down  and  floated  on  the  surface  of  the  water. 
Seizing  upon  these,  she  drew  herself  to  the  bank,  got 
out  of  the  water,  and  darted  into  the  thick  wood 
without  being  perceived.  It  was  then  that,  smarting 
under  the  recollection  of  Walter's  insulting  behaviour 
and  the  anticipation  of  certain  disgrace  and  exposure, 
she  formed  the  resolution  never  to  return  home.  Ac 
cordingly,  she  crossed  the  mountain  which  bordered 
the  river,  and  became  an  outcast  and  a  wanderer. 

Her  infirmity  of  speech  proved  her  best  friend 
among  the  far-off  strangers  with  whom  she  sojourned. 
She  was  treated  with  kindness,  as  one  on  whom  the 
hand  of  Providence  had  inflicted  the  sorest  evils ;  and 
she  made  herself  useful  by  her  habits  of  industry.  At 
this  time  news  did  not  travel  as  fast  as  now ;  for  there 
were  few  readers,  and  fewer  newspapers  to  trumpet 
forth  murders  and  accidents  of  flood  and  field.  She 
lived,  accordingly,  without  seeing  or  hearing  any  in 
quirers  or  inquiries  after  her,  and  without  knowing 
what  was  passing  at  home.  When  her  child  was 
born,  they  wished  to  take  it  away,  and  place  it  at 
nurse  in  a  poor-house ;  but  she  would  not  consent. 
She  nursed  it  and  brought  it  up,  without  being  a  bur 
den  to  any  living  soul.  Thus  years  wore  on,  till,  one 
day,  as  chance  would  have  it,  a  person  from  the  old 
neighbourhood  came  that  way,  and  knew  her  at  once. 
From  him  she  learned  all  I  have  been  relating,  up  to 
the  period  at  which  Walter's  wife  died.  She  came 
to  a  resolution  at  once,  and  departed  from  her  asylum 
with  her  child.  On  arriving  in  the  vicinity  of  Wal 
ter's  abode,  she  placed  herself  in  a  situation  where 


THE   DUMB   GIEL.  197 

she  would  not  be  observed,  and,  instructing  the  boy 
what  to  do,  embraced  him  with  tears,  and  forced  him 
from  her  much  against  his  will.  She  waited  to  see 
her  son  received  into  his  father's  arms  and  taken  to 
his  home,  and  then  disappeared  from  the  knowledge 
of  all,  completely  eluding  the  inquiries  of  Walter. 
On  the  last  page  of  the  pocket-book  was  written, 
"  You  shall  see  me  once  more."  "  Strange  !  ",  thought 
Walter,  —  "  the  very  words  of  my  dream ! "  The  coin 
cidence  was  singular ;  but  where  is  the  wonder  that 
one  dream  in  a  whole  lifetime  should  present  some 
resemblance  to  a  reality  ? 

Walter  Avery  had  paid  the  full  penalty  of  his  crime, 
in  the  misery  of  seven  long  years.  He  now  enjoyed 
comparative  ease,  although  he  never,  to  the  latest  pe 
riod  of  his  life,  could  cast  off  the  terrors  of  darkness 
and  the  leaden  chains  of  superstition.  Time  swept 
along,  and  the  boy  Walter  grew  up  towards  man 
hood,  giving  promise  of  becoming  as  handsome  as  his 
mother,  and  a  better  man  than  his  father.  At  length 

'  O 

Walter  fell  sick,  and  lay  on  his  death-bed.  It  was 
just  in  the  twilight  of  the  evening,  when  his  son  was 
alone  with  him  in  the  room.  A  female  figure  came 
quietly  in,  and  sat  down  by  the  bedside. 

"  Who's  that  ?  "  asked  Walter,  in  a  weak  whisper. 

"  It  is  my  mother ! "  cried  the  youth,  starting  up, 
and  kissing  her  affectionately. 

"  She  said  she  would  come  and  see  me  once  more," 
thought  Walter.  "  It  is  for  the  last  time  ;  now  I  know 
that  I  shall  die."  And  he  lay  for  a  while  almost  in 
sensible.  At  length  he  requested  his  son  to  raise  him. 

"  Phoebe,"  said  he,  "  can  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

Phoebe  pointed  to  their  child ;  then  placed  her  hand 


198  THE   DUMB   GIRL. 

on  her  heart;  and,  raising  her  still-beautiful  eyes  to 
wards  Heaven,  leaned  down  and  kissed  him. 

Walter  seemed  endued  with  new  life. 

"Send  for  Doctor  Townley  —  quick  —  quick!"  said 
he. 

"  You  mean  Doctor  Barley,"  said  his  son. 

"  No,  no  ;  I  mean  Parson  Townley,"  answered  he : 
"  run,  run  !  " 

"  He  wishes  the  doctor  to  pray  with  him,"  thought 
Phoebe,  and  motioned  her  son  to  obey.  In  the  course 
of  half  an  hour  the  clergyman  arrived. 

"  Doctor,"  cried  Walter,  "  I  sent  for  you  to  marry 
me."  "  He  is  delirious,"  observed  the  clergyman ; 
"he  will  be  wedded  to  none  but  the  winding-sheet 
and  the  worm,  poor  soul." 

"  Come,  come ;  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost." 

"  Where  is  the  bride  ?  "  said  the  clergyman,  willing 
to  soothe  him. 

"  There,"  answered  Walter ;  « the  mother  of  that 
boy." 

"  Indeed ! ",  cried  the  good  man  ;  "  then  he  is  not 
mad.  I  am  ready,  Mr.  Avery.  Come  hither,  Phoebe  — 
I  did  not  know  you  —  give  me  your  hand." 

Phoebe  hung  back,  and  shook  her  head  with  de 
termined  opposition. 

"  For  the  sake  of  your  son." 

Still  she  refused  her  hand. 

"  For  the  sake  of  the  father,  then.  Would  you  re 
fuse  him  the  opportunity  of  making  his  peace  with 
Heaven,  by  atoning  his  injuries  to  you  ?  " 

Phoebe  bowed  her  head  with  reverence,  and  gave 
the  clergyman  her  hand.  He  placed  it  within  that  of 
the  sick  man,  and  went  through  with  the  ceremony. 


THE  DUMB   GIRL.  199 

"  May  God  reward  you  for  this  act  of  justice ! ",  said 
the  clergyman. 

"  May  God  forgive  me ! ",  replied  Walter. 

Two  weeks  afterwards,  Phoebe  was  a  widow. 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  said  Mrs.  Fubsy,  "  I  sha'n't 
visit  her." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Mrs.  Cluckey. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Mrs.  Skimpey. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Mrs.  Ratsbane. 

Yet  they  all  went  to  see  Phrebe  in  the  course  of  a 
fortnight,  and  all  declared  she  was  one  of  the  most 
agreeable  creatures  in  the  world.  The  truth  is,  our 
heroine  was  an  excellent  listener ;  which,  in  this  talk 
ing  republic  of  ours,  is  better  than  having  the  elo 
quence  of  a  Patrick  Henry,  a  Randolph,  or  a  Clay. 


DYSPEPSY. 


DYSPEPSY. 


"  0  cookery !  cookery !  That  kills  more  than  weapons,  guns,  wars,  or 
poisons,  ami  would  destroy  all,  but  that  physic  helps  to  make  away  some."  — 
ANTHONY  BREWER. 


YE  who  flatter  yourselves  that  indolence  and  luxury 
are  compatible  with  the  enjoyment  of  vigour  of  health 
and  hilarity  of  spirits ;  that  the  acquisition  of  the 
means  of  happiness  is  to  be  happy;  and  that  the 
habitual  pampering  of  the  senses  is  not  forever  paid 
for  by  the  depression  of  the  immortal  soul;  —  listen 
to  my  story,  and  be  wise. 

I  am  the  son  of  a  reputable  gentleman,  who  made 
a  good  figure  in  the  Revolutionary  War,  and  pos 
sessed  a  competent  estate  in  one  of  the  river  counties 
of  New  York.  His  name  will  be  found  in  the  old 
Committees  of  Safety.  He  ranked  as  colonel  in  the 
Continental  Army,  and  acted  as  a  deputy-commissary- 
general  in  the  year  1779.  In  this  position  he  com 
mitted  a  most  enormous  folly ;  for,  finding  the  good 
people  his  neighbours  would  not  exchange  their  goods 
for  money  that  was  good-for-nothing — (they  were 
wiser  than  the  present  race,  notwithstanding  the 
march  of  mind)  —  he  pledged  his  own  credit  for 


204  DYSPEPSY. 

the  supplies,  without  which  the  army,  at  Peekskill, 
would  have  suffered  greatly.  He  was  warmly  thanked 
in  letters  from  distinguished  persons  in  the  Old  Con 
gress,  for  people  are  apt  to  be  grateful  in  time  of 
danger;  but,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  struggle,  when 
he  presented  his  accounts,  the  danger  being  over,  the 
accounting  officers  refused  to  allow  a  credit  for  the 
debts  he  had  incurred  on  his  own  responsibility.  My 
father  returned  home,  a  ruined  and  broken-hearted 
man.  His  old  neighbours  pitied  him,  but  they  could 
not  lose  their  money.  They  justly  considered  that 
charity  begins  at  home,  and  that  there  was  no  moral 
principle  obliging  them  to  starve  themselves  and  their 
children  for  the  sake  of  other  people.  I  do  not  blame 
them.  They  divided  my  father's  property  among 
them,  and,  finding  there  was  nothing  left,  forgave  him 
the  rest  of  his  debts.  The  contractors  and  commis 
saries  of  the  day,  with  great  appearance  of  reason, 
called  him  a  fool  for  ruining  himself  in  a  station 
where  every  other  man  managed  to  grow  rich.  The 
old  farmers,  his  neighbours,  some  of  whom  are  still 
alive,  have  often  told  me  that  he  deserved  well  of  his 
country ;  but  his  name  has  been  smothered  under  the 
load  of  great,  good,  and  patriotic  people,  that  have 
since  sprung  up,  in  these  times  that  try  men's  pockets. 
My  father  might  have  petitioned  Congress,  and 
died,  like  poor  Amy  Dardin  and  her  horse,*  before  the 
members  had  finished  making  their  speeches.  But  he 
was  a  cold,  proud  man,  who  often  went  without  his 

*  Amy  Dardin  was  the  widow  of  a  contractor,  on  the  "Cumberland 
road  ",  who  presented  to  Congress  a  claim  for  the  value  of  a  horse  that  per 
ished  through  some  forgotten  accident  while  the  work  was  going  on.  This 
claim  led  to  a  vast  deal  of  discussion. 


DYSPEPSY.  ^  205 

dues  because  he  would  not  ask  for  them.  He  accord 
ingly  sat  down,  with  his  little  family  around  him, 
steeped  in  poverty;  consoled  himself  with  reading 
books  and  studying  the  stars,  and  waited  in  gloomy 
inactivity  for  the  time,  when  a  great  pocket-book  full 
of  Continental  money,  and  a  few  thousand  dollars  in 
Continental  certificates,  should  become  worth  some 
thing.  The  Continental  money,  as  every  body  knows, 
never  recovered  itself;  the  certificates  were  afterwards 
funded  at  their  full  value.  But,  previous  to  this,  my 
father  had,  under  the  strong  pressure  of  necessity, 
sold  them  for  almost  nothing,  to  a  worthy  friend  of 
his,  who  afterwards  turned  out  one  of  the  most  elo 
quent  advocates  of  the  Funding  System.  Heavens  !, 
how  he  would  talk  of  the  sufferings  and  privations  of 
the  patriots  of  the  Revolution!  He  certainly  owed 
them  a  good  turn,  for  he  got  enough  by  them  to  build 
a  palace,  and  purchase  half  the  Genesee  country. 

At  the  period  of  our  ruin  I  was  about  ten  years  old, 
I  think,  and,  until  that  time,  I  had  been  brought  up 
as  the  children  of  wealthy  country-gentlemen  gener 
ally  are.  I  had  some  of  the  feelings  and  a  portion  of 
the  manners  of  a  gentleman's  son,  which  I  hope  I  still 
retain,  although,  to  say  the  truth,  the  latter  part  of 
my  education  was  deplorable  enough.  My  father, 
from  the  period  in  which  he  felt  himself  dishonoured 
by  the  rejection  of  his  accounts,  retired  within  him 
self,  and  seemed  benumbed  in  heart  and  spirits.  He 
passed  his  whole  time  in  reading  the  few  books  that 
he  could  come  at;  and  his  temper  became  impertur 
bable,  except  at  such  times  as  he  was  routed  up  and 
forced  to  move  from  his  seat.  He  would  then  exhibit 
symptoms  of  internal  discomposure,  make  for  the 


206  DYSPEPSY. 

nearest  chair,  set  himself  down,  and  resume  his 
studies.  Half  the  time  he  would  have  forgotten  his 
dinner,  had  not  my  mother  waked  him  from  his  re 
verie.  To  be  sure,  our  dinner  was  hardly  worth  eat 
ing;  but,  to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  I  never 
enjoyed  a  better  appetite,  or  had  so  little  of  the  Dys- 
pepsy.  We  were  often  on  the  very  verge  of  want, 
and  had  it  not  been  for  the  exertions  of  my  excellent 
mother,  who,  thank  God,  is  still  living,  and  at  least 
ten  years  younger  than  I  am  —  aided  by  the  good 
offices  of  a  sister,  well  married  in  the  city  —  we  had 
sometimes  actually  wanted  the  necessaries  of  life. 
It  was  not  then  so  much  the  fashion  for  genteel  peo 
ple  to  go  begging.  But  it  is  astonishing  what  the 
presiding  genius  of  a  sensible,  prudent,  industrious 
mother,  can  do  ;  what  miracles  indeed  she  can  achieve, 
in  keeping  herself,  her  husband,  and  her  children,  de 
cent  at  least.  My  mother  did  all  this,  and  more ;  she 
sent  me  to  school;  and  it  is  not  the  least  of  my 
sources  of  honest  pride,  that  my  education,  such  as  it 
was,  cost  the  public  nothing.  Women,  notwithstand 
ing  what  cynics  may  say,  are  born  for  something 
better  than  wasting  time  and  spending  money ;  and 
I  hereby  apprise  the  reader  that,  if  ever  I  am  guilty 
of  a  sarcasm  against  woman,  it  is  only  when  I  am 
labouring  under  the  horrors  of  Dyspepsy. 

Till  the  age  of  sixteen  I  never  saw  the  city.  To 
me  it  was  the  region  of  distant  wonders,  ineffable 
splendours,  wise  men,  and  beautiful  women.  I  rever 
enced  a  New-Yorker,  as  I  now  venerate  a  person  who 
has  been  to  Paris  or  Rome ;  and  I  shall  never  forget 
my  extreme  admiration  of  a  fine  lady,  the  daughter  of 
a  little  tailor  who  lived  near  us.  She  was  an  appren- 


DYSPEPSY.  207 

tice  to  a  milliner,  and  came  up  during  the  prevalence 
of  the  yellow-fever,  with  three  bandboxes  and  a 
pocket-handkerchief  full  of  finery.  The  world  of 
romance  —  the  region  of  airy  nothings,  of  creatures 
that  come  and  go  at  will  before  the  youthful  fancy  — 
was  now  just  opening  before  me  in  long  perspective. 
I  was  without  employment ;  for  if  my  mother  had  a 
weakness,  it  was  one  which  I  verily  believe  belongs 
even  to  the  female  angels.  She  could  not  forget  old 
times,  nor  bear  the  idea  that  her  only  son  should  learn 
a  trade,  or  slave  in  any  useful  calling. 

Deprived  thus  of  the  resources  of  active  occupation, 
I  spent  my  time  either  in  reading,  or  roaming  at  ran 
dom  and  unpurposed  through  the  beautiful  romantic 
scenes  which  surrounded  our  poor,  yet  pleasant  abode. 
My  mind  was  a  complete  contrast  to  my  body.  The 
latter  was  indolence  itself;  the  former  a  perfect  va 
grant.  I  was  eternally  thinking,  and  doing  nothing. 
The  least  spark  awakened  in  my  mind  visions  of  the 
future  —  for  that  was  all  to  me  —  and  lighted  my  path 
through  ever-lengthening  vistas  of  shadowy  happiness. 
Sometimes  I  was  a  soldier,  winning  my  way  to  the 
culmination  of  military  glory ;  sometimes  a  poet,  the 
admiration  of  the  fair ;  and  sometimes  I  possessed, 
what  then  seemed  to  me  the  sure  means  of  perfect 
happiness,  —  ten  thousand  a  year.  For  days,  and 
weeks,  and  months,  and  years,  I  hardly  spoke  an  un 
necessary  word.  I  lived  in  a  world  of  my  own,  and 
millions  of  thoughts,  wishes,  fears,  and  hopes  —  mil 
lions  of  impulses  and  impressions  —  were  bori|  in  my 
mind,  and  died  away,  without  ever  making  a  sign 
through  the  medium  of  my  tongue  or  my  pen. 

The  first-born  of  the  passions  is  love ;  and  love  is 


208  DYSPEPSY. 

of  earlier,  as  well  as  more  vigorous,  growth,  in  soli 
tude.  I  was  always  enamoured  of  some  one ;  for  the 
sentiment  was  indispensable  to  my  visionary  existence. 
All  ended,  however,  as  it  began,  in  abstract  dreams 
and  amatory  reveries.  It  is  now  my  pride  to  know 
that  no  woman  was  ever  yet  the  wiser  for  my  prefer 
ence.  My  affection  never  manifested  itself  in  any 
other  way  than  by  increasing  shyness.  I  never  volun 
tarily  came  near  a  young  woman  at  any  time ;  but 
when  I  was  in  love,  I  always  ran  away.  I  would  as 
soon  have  met  a  spirit,  as  the  object  of  my  affections. 
I  was  moreover  much  given  to  jealousy  and  pique ; 
always  persuading  myself,  against  truth  and  reason, 
that  the  love  of  which  I  was  myself  so  conscious, 
must  of  necessity  be  understood  by  her  from  whom  I 
was  at  such  pains  to  keep  it  a  secret.  The  history  of 
my  amours  with  imaginary  mistresses,  and  mistresses 
that  never  imagined  my  love,  is  curious ;  I  may  one 
day  give  it  to  the  world.  But  my  present  object  is 
different.  I  will  therefore  only  say,  that  I  grew  up  to 
the  age  of  seventeen  or  eighteen,  a  sheer  abstract  man 
—  a  being  of  thought,  rather  than  action ;  a  dweller 
in  a  world  of  my  own  fantastic  and  ridiculous  com 
position  ;  living  neither  in  the  past  nor  the  present,  but 
in  the  vast  space  before  me.  My  companions  were 
shadows  of  my  own  creation  ;  my  enjoyments  were 
the  production  of  these  shadows.  Yet,  for  all  this, 
I  neither  became  mad  nor  an  idiot.  It  seemed  as  if 
I  was  all  this  time  preparing  myself  for  realities  ;  and 
that  my  sojournings  in  the  realm  of  fancy  impercepti 
bly  initiated  me  into  that  of  fact.  I  cannot  otherwise 
account  for  my  early  success  in  life,  nor  for  the  mira 
cle  of  escaping  its  shoals  and  quicksands. 


DYSPEPSY.  209 

At  the  age  of  seventeen  or  eighteen,  I  forget  which, 
I  was  sent  for  by  an  uncle  —  (the  husband  of  my 
mother's  sister)  —  who  was  a  merchant  of  some  note. 
At  one  step,  I  passed  from  the  ideal  to  the  material 
world.  There  is  but  one  greater  step,  and  that  is 
from  the  material  world  to  the  world  of  spirits.  My 
uncle  was  an  honest,  liberal,  cross,  gouty  old  Irish 
gentleman,  with  plenty  of  relations  in  Ireland  whom 
he  would  not  acknowledge,  though  they  proved  that 
they  sprung  from  the  same  family-tree.  He  was  an 
inordinate  tory,  a  member  of  the  Belvidere  Club,  and 
a  mighty  fish-eater  at  Becky's.*  When  I  first  went 
to  live  with  him,  he  was  getting  rather  infirm.  His 
hair  was  as  white  as  snow ;  his  face  as  rosy  as  the 
sun  in  a  mist ;  his  body  robust  to  all  appearance ; 
and,  had  it  not  been  for  his  "  damned  legs  "  as  he  was 
pleased  to  say,  he  would  have  been  as  good  a  man  as 
he  was  twenty  years  before.  There  is  certainly  a 
great  change  in  the  world  within  the  last  half-century. 
People  lived  at  least  as  well  as  they  do  now,  and  only 
got  the  gout  —  now  they  get  Dyspepsy.  Can  any 
learned  physician  tell  me  the  reason  of  this  emigration 
of  the  old  enemy,  from  the  great  toe  to  the  stomach  ? 

The  old  gentleman  had  a  heart  big  enough  to  hold 
all  the  world,  except  the  French,  the  Democrats,  and 
the  multiplicity  of  cousins  and  second  cousins  who 
claimed  kindred  there  and  had  not  their  claims  al 
lowed.  He  had  in  truth  a  most  intolerable  contempt 
for  poor  relations.  I  believe  he  would  have  served 

*  Becky's  was  the  older  club,  and  devoted  to  fish  and  beefsteaks,  punch 
and  Madeira.  The  Belvideres  were  a  gay  set,  and  launched  out  into  Cham 
pagne  or  any  thing.  Both  date  back  into  the  last  century.  The  houses  of 
meeting  were  in  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  overlooking  the  East  River,  and 
not  far  from  Corlaer's  Hook. 

14 


210  DYSPEPSY. 

his  wife's  family  the  same  way,  but,  the  truth  is,  my 
aunt  was  —  but  it  is  a  great  secret — she  could  make 
him  do  just  as  she  pleased,  for  she  was  the  best- 
natured  creature  in  the  world,  and  none  but  a  brute 
can  resist  a  kind-hearted  woman.  Being  a  relation, 
I  was  treated  to  a  seat  at  the  dinner-table.  The  old 
gentleman  was  reckoned  one  of  the  best  livers  in  town, 
and  here  it  was,  I  believe,  that  I  laid  the  corner-stone 
of  my  miseries.  At  home  there  had  been  no  tempta 
tion  to  gluttony — here  there  was  a  sad  succession  of 
allurements,  such  as  human  nature  seldom  can  resist, 
even  when  experience  has  demonstrated  their  ill  con 
sequences,  and  Death  sits  shaking  his  dart  over  every 
successive  delicacy. 

People  talk  of  the  mischiefs  of  drinking ;  invent 
remedies  and  preventives,  and  institute  societies;  — 
as  if  eating  was  not  ten  times  more  pernicious. 
There  are  a  hundred  die  of  eating  to  one  that  dies  of 
drinking.  But  gluttony  is  the  vice  of  gentlemen,  and 
gentlemanly  vicfl^require  neither  remedies,  prevent 
ives,  nor  societies.  It  is  not  necessary  to  my  purpose 
that  I  should  make  a  book  out  of  my  apprenticeship, 
as  Goethe  has  done ;  nor  am  I  writing  the  history  of 
my  uncle,  else  I  might  tell  some  fine  stories  of  his  life, 
actions,  and  end.  His  latter  years  were  spent,  as 
usual,  in  paying  the  penalty  of  former  indulgences ; 
and  a  complication  of  disorders  carried  him  off  in 
a  green  old  age.  In  three  months  from  the  time  of 
his  death,  half  the  county  of  Kilkenny  claimed  kin 
dred  with  him.  There  were  so  many  different  claim 
ants,  that  nobody  but  the  lawyers  could  settle  the 
matter.  After  three  or  four  years,  a  decision  was 
given  in  favour  of  a  young  man,  who,  on  taking  pos- 


DYSPEPSY.  211 

session,  had  the  mortification  to  discover  that  nothing 
was  left.  The  law  had  become  my  uncle's  heir.  It 
is  an  excellent  thing  to  have  plenty  of  laws  and  courts 
of  law;  but  then  one  can  have  too  much  of  a  good 
thing,  and  pay  too  much  for  it.  Tournefort,  in  his 
Travels  in  the  East,  says,  "  An  Italian  once  told  me, 
at  Constantinople,  that  we  should  be  very  happy  in 
Europe,  if  we  could  appeal  from  our  courts  to  the 
divan ;  '  for,'  added  he,  '  one  might  go  to  Constantino 
ple,  and  all  over  Turkey  too,  if  there  were  occasion, 
before  one  suit  could  be  finally  decided  in  Europe.' 
A  Turk,"  continues  M.  Tournefort,  "  pleading  before 
the  parliament  of  Provence,  against  a  merchant  of 
Marseilles  who  had  led  him  a  dance  for  many  years 
from  court  to  court,  made  a  very  merry  reply  to  one 
of  his  friends,  who  desired  to  know  the  state  of  his  af 
fairs.  '  Why,  they  are  wonderfully  altered,'  says  he : 
4  when  I  first  arrived  here  I  had  a  roll  of  pistoles  as 
long  as  my  arm,  and  my  pleadings  were  comprised 
in  a  single  sheet;  but  at  present  I  have  a  writing 
above  six  times  as  long  as  my  arm,  and  my  roll  of 
pistoles  is  but  half  an  inch.' "  I  wish  the  law-givers, 
the  judges,  and  more  especially  the  lawyers,  would 
recollect  that  time  is  money,  and  that  to  waste  both 
the  time  and  the  money  of  suitors  is  a  double  op 
pression.  A  man  might  better  get  the  bastinado 
promptly  though  wrongfully  sometimes,  than  wait 
seven  years  for  his  rights,  as  in  some  Christian  coun 
tries. 

The  death  of  my  uncle  was  a  lucky  affair  for  me, 
as  by  it  I  lost  the  mischievous  allurements  of  his  ta 
ble,  and  was  thrown  upon  my  own  resources  for  a 
livelihood.  Hard  days  make  soft  nights ;  and  I  found 


212  DYSPEPSY. 

that  the  necessity  of  exertion,  and  the  occasional  diffi 
culties  in  procuring  a  dinner,  soon  reinstated  me  in 
the  possession  of  the  only  inheritance  I  received  from 
my  father  —  a  hale  constitution.  It  was  my  good  for 
tune,  as  the  world  would  call  it,  to  meet  with  a  young 
man  of  capital,  who  wanted  a  partner  skilled  in  the 
business  my  uncle  had  followed.  We  accordingly 
entered  into  partnership,  and  our  business  proved  ex 
ceedingly  profitable.  In  a  few  years  I  had  more 
money  than  I  required  for  my  wants,  and  with  the 
necessity  for  exertion  ceased  the  inclination.  When 
a  man  has  been  toiling  for  years  to  get  rich,  and 
dreaming  all  the  while  that  riches  will  add  to  his  en 
joyments,  he  must  try  and  realize  his  dreams,  after 
his  endeavours  have  been  crowned  with  success.  I 
had  proposed  to  myself  a  life  of  ease  and  luxury,  as 
the  reward  of  all  my  labours.  Accordingly,  finding 
myself  sufficiently  wealthy,  I  retired  from  the  firm  as 
an  active  partner,  continuing  however  my  name  to 
the  connexion,  and  receiving  a  share  of  the  profits  in 
return  for  the  use  of  my  capital. 

I  am  now  my  own  master,  said  I,  as  I  shook  the 
dust  of  the  counting-house  from  my  feet.  I  can  do 
as  I  please,  and  go  where  I  please.  Now  a  man  that 
has  but  one  thing  to  do  and  one  place  to  go  to  can 
never  be  in  the  predicament  of  the  ass  between  two 
bundles  of  hay ;  nor  be  puzzled  to  death  in  the  midst 
of  conflicting  temptations.  At  first  I  thought  of  go 
ing  to  Europe ;  but  before  I  could  make  up  my  mind 
the  packet  had  sailed,  and  before  another  was  ready 
I  had  altered  my  mind.  Next  I  decided  for  the 
Springs;  then  for  the  Branch;  then  for  Schooley's 
mountain;  and  then,  in  succession,  for  every  other 


DYSPEPSY.  213 

"resort  of  beauty  and  fashion,"  in  these  United 
States.  In  conclusion,  I  went  to  none  of  them.  I 
made  but  two  excursions  :  one  to  the  Fireplace,  to 
catch  trout,  where  I  caught  an  ague ;  and  the  other  to 
Sing  Sing,  to  see  the  new  state-prison,  where  I  missed 
the  ague  and  caught  a  bilious  fever.  Thus  the  sum- 

o  O 

mer  passed  away,  and  I  may  say  I  did  nothing  but 
eat.  That  is  an  enjoyment  in  which  both  ease  and 
luxury  are  combined,  and  my  indisposition  had  left 
behind  a  most  voracious  appetite.  Towards  the  lat 
ter  end  of  autumn,  I  began  to  feel  I  can  scarcely  tell 
how.  I  slept  all  the  evening,  and  lay  awake  all  the 
night;  or,  if  I  fell  asleep,  always  dreamed  I  was  suffo 
cating  between  two  feather  beds.  I  was  plagued 
worse  than  poor  Pharaoh.  I  had  aches  of  all  sorts; 
stiff  necks,  pains  in  the  shoulders,  sides,  back,  loins, 
head,  breast :  in  short,  there  never  was  a  man  so  ca 
priciously  used  by  certain  inexplicable,  unaccountable 
infirmities,  as  I  was.  I  dare  say  I  had  often  felt  the 
same  pains  before  without  thinking  of  them,  because 
I  was  too  busy  to  mind  trifles ;  for  it  is  a  truth  which 
my  experience  has  since  verified,  that  the  most  ordi 
nary  evils  of  life  are  intolerable,  without  the  stimulus 
of  some  active  pursuit  to  draw  us  from  their  perpet 
ual  contemplation.  What  was  very  singular,  I  never 
lost  my  appetite  all  this  time,  but  ate  more  plenti 
fully  than  ever.  Indeed,  eating  was  almost  the  only 
amusement  I  had,  ever  since  I  became  a  man  of  pleas 
ure;  and  it  was  only  while  engaged  at  the  table  that 
I  lost  the  sense  of  those  innumerable  pains  which  tor 
mented  me  at  other  times. 

I  went  to  a  physician,  who  gave  me  directions  as  to 
the  various  modes  of  treatment  in  these  cases.    "  You 


214  DYSPEPSY. 

are  dyspeptic,"  said  he,  "  and  you  must  either  eat  less, 
exercise  more,  take  physic,  or  be  sick."  As  to  eating 
less,  that  was  out  of  the  question.  What  is  the  use 
of  being  rich,  unless  a  man  can  eat  as  much  as  he 
likes  ?  As  to  exercise  —  what  is  the  use  of  being  rich, 
if  a  man  can't  be  as  lazy  as  he  pleases  ?  The  alter 
native  lay  between  being  sick  or  taking  physic,  and  I 
chose  the  latter.  The  physician  shook  his  head  and 
smiled,  but  it  is  not  the  doctor's  business  to  discourage 
the  taking  of  physic ;  and  he  prescribed,  accordingly. 
I  took  medicines,  I  ate  more  than  ever,  and,  what 
quite  discouraged  me,  I  grew  worse  and  worse.  I  sent 
for  the  doctor  again.  "  You  have  tried  physic  in  vain ; 
suppose  you  try  exercise  on  horseback,"  said  he. 

I  bought  a  horse,  cantered  away  every  morning  like 
a  hero,  and  ate  more  than  ever;  —  for  what  was  the 
use  of  exercise,  except  to  give  one  impunity  in  eating? 
I  never  worked  half  so  hard  when  I  was  an  appren 
tice,  and  not  worth  a  groat,  as  I  did  now  I  was  a 
gentleman  of  ease  and  luxury.  It  was  necessary,  the 
doctor  said,  that  the  horse  should  be  a  hard  trotter ; 
and  accordingly  I  bought  one  that  trotted  so  hard, 
that  he  actually  broke  the  paving-stones  in  Broadway, 
and  struck  fire  at  every  step.  O,  reader!,  gentle 
reader,  if  thou  art  of  Christian  bowels,  pity  me!  I 
was  dislocated  in  every  joint,  and  sometimes  envied 
St.  Laurence  his  gridiron.  But  I  will  confess  that 
the  remedy  proved  not  a  little  efficacious,  and  it  is  my 
firm  opinion  that,  had  I  persevered,  I  should  have 
been  cured  in  time,  had  I  not  taken  up  a  mistaken 
notion,  that  a  man  who  exercised  a  great  deal  might 
safely  eat  a  great  deal.  Accordingly,  I  ate  by  the 
mile,  and  every  mile  I  rode  furnished  an  apology  for 


DYSPEPSY.  215 

a  further  indulgence  of  appetite.  The  exercise  and 
the  eating  being  thus  balanced,  I  remained  just  where 
I  was  before. 

I  sent  for  the  physician,  again.  "  You  have  tried 
medicine  and  exercise,  suppose  you  try  a  regimen. 
Continue  the  exercise ;  eat  somewhat  less ;  confine 
yourself  to  plain  food,  plainly  dressed ;  abstain  from 
rich  sauces,  all  sorts  of  spices,  pastes,  confectioneries, 
and  puddings,  particularly  plum-puddings,  and,  gener 
ally,  every  kind  of  luxury ;  and  drink  only  a  glass  or 
two  of  wine." 

"  Zounds !  doctor,  I  might  as  well  be  a  poor  man  at 
once !  What  is  the  use  of  being  rich,  if  I  can't  eat 
and  drink,  and  do  just  as  I  like?  Besides,  I  am  par 
ticularly  fond  of  sauces,  spices,  and  plum-puddings." 

"  Why,  so  you  may  do  as  you  like,"  replied  he, 
smiling.  "  You  have  your  choice  between  Dyspepsy 
and  all  these  good  things." 

The  doctor  left  me  to  take  my  choice,  and,  after 
great  and  manifold  doubts,  resolutions,  and  retrac 
tions,  I  decided  on  trying  the  effects  of  this  most 
nauseating  remedy.  I  practised  the  most  rigid  self- 
denial  ;  tasted  a  little  of  this,  a  very  little  of  that,  a 
morsel  of  the  other,  and  ate  moderately  of  every  thing 
on  the  table ;  cheating  myself  occasionally  by  tasting 
slyly  a  bit  of  confectionery,  or  a  slice  of  plum-pud 
ding.  Now  and  then,  indeed,  when  I  felt  better  than 
usual,  I  indulged  more  freely,  as  I  had  a  right  to  do ; 
—  for  what  is  the  use  of  starving  at  one  time,  except 
to  enable  one's  self  to  indulge  at  another  ?  The  physi 
cian  came  one  day  to  dine  with  me  at  my  boarding- 
house,  the  most  famous  eating-place  in  the  whole  city, 
and  the  most  capital  establishment  for  Dyspepsy.  He 


216  DYSPEPSY. 

came,  he  said,  on  purpose  to  see  how  I  followed  his 
prescription.  I  was  extremely  abstinent  that  day,  only 
eating  a  mouthful  of  every  thing  now  and  then.  The 
doctor,  I  observed,  played  a  glorious  knife  and  fork, 
and  seemed  particularly  fond  of  rich  sauces,  spices, 
paste,  and  plum-pudding. 

"  Well,  doctor,"  said  I,  after  the  rest  of  the  company 
had  retired,  "  am  not  I  a  hero  —  a  perfect  anchorite  ?  " 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  took  the  trouble  to  count 
every  mouthful.  You  have  eaten  twice  as  much  as 
an  ordinary  labourer,  and  tasted  of  every  thing  on 
the  table." 

"  But  only  tasted,  doctor;  while  you  —  you  —  gave 
me  a  most  edifying  example.  Faith,  you  displayed  a 
most  bitter  antipathy  to  pies,  custards,  rich  sauces, 
and,  most  especially,  plum-pudding." 

"  My  dear  Ambler,"  said  the  doctor,  "  you  are  to 
follow  my  prescriptions,  not  my  example.  But,  by  the 
way,  that  was  delightful  wine,  that  last  bottle  —  Bing- 
ham,  or  Marston,  hey  ?  " 

I  took  the  hint,  and  sent  for  another  bottle,  which 
we  discussed  equally  between  us,  glass  for  glass.  I 
felt  so  well  I  sent  for  another,  and  we  discussed  that 
too. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  doctor,  who  by  this  time 
saw  double,  "  my  dear  friend,  mind,  don't  forget  my 
prescription ;  no  sauces,  no  spices,  no  paste,  no  plum- 
pudding,  and,  above  all,  no  wine.  Adieu.  I  am  go 
ing  to  a  consultation." 

That  night  I  suffered  martyrdom  —  night-mare, 
dreams,  and  visions  of  horror.  A  grinning  villain 
came,  and,  seizing  me  by  the  toe,  exclaimed,  "  I  am 
Gout;  I  come  to  avenge  the  innocent  calves  who 


DYSPEPSY.  217 

have  suffered  in  forced-meat  balls  and  mock-turtle, 
for  your  gratification."  Another  blear-eyed,  sneering 
rogue,  gave  me  a  box  on  the  ear  that  stung  through 
every  nerve,  crying  out,  "  I  am  Catarrh,  come  to  take 
satisfaction  for  the  wine  you  drank  this  day ; "  while 
a  third,  more  hideous  than  the  other  two,  a  miserable, 
cadaverous,  long-faced  fiend,  came  up,  touching  me 
into  a  thousand  various  pains,  and  crying,  in  a  hollow, 
despairing  voice,  "  I  am  Dyspepsy,  come  to  punish  you 
for  your  gluttony."  I  awoke  next  morning  in  all  the 
horrors  of  indigestion  and  acidity,  which  lasted  several 
days,  during  which  time  I  made  divers  excellent  reso 
lutions,  forswearing  wine,  particularly  old  wine,  most 
devoutly. 

This  time,  however,  I  had  one  consolation.  The 
doctor,  and  not  I,  was  to  blame.  It  was  he  that  led 
me  into  excesses  for  which  I  was  now  paying  the 
penalty.  I  felt  quite  indignant.  "  I'll  let  him  know," 
said  I,  "  that  I  am  my  own  master,  and  not  to  be 
forced  to  drink  against  my  inclination."  So  I  dis 
charged  the  doctor  who  set  me  such  a  bad  example, 
and  called  in  three  more,  being  pretty  well  assured 
that  I  should  now  hear  all  sides  of  the  question.  Pro 
fessional  men  seldom  or  never  agree  perfectly  in 
opinion,  because  that  would  indicate  a  lack  of  indi 
vidual  confidence.  They  retired  into  my  dressing- 
room,  forgetting  to  shut  the  door.  Doctors  in  consul 
tation  should  always  make  sure  to  shut  the  door. 

"  He  wants  excitement,"  said  Doctor  Calomel,  a 
thunderbolt  of  science ;  "  there  is  —  that  is  to  say,  the 
bile  has  got  the  better  of  the  blood,  and  the  phlegm 
has  overpowered  the  atrabile  —  they  are  struggling 
like  fury  for  the  upper  hand.  We  must  give  him  a 
dose  of  calomel." 


218  DYSPEPSY. 

"  Not  at  all,"  quoth  Doctor  Jalap,  whose  great  ex 
cellence  consisted  in  the  number  of  capital  letters  he 
carried  at  the  tail  of  his  name,  insomuch  that  he  was 
called  the  Professor  of  A.  B.  C. ;  "not  at  all  — the 
salt,  sulphur,  and  mercury,  which  Paracelsus  affirms 
constitute  the  matter  of  all  animal  bodies,  are  in  a 
state  of  disorganization.  We  must  therefore  give  him 
two  doses  of  calomel."  What  a  piece  of  work  is 
man  !,  thought  I  —  "  salt,  sulphur,  and  mercury!  " 

"  The  body  being  an  hydraulic  engine,"  quoth  Doc 
tor  Rhubarb,  who  valued  himself  on  his  theory,  "  the 
body  being  an  hydraulic  engine,  our  remedies  must 
be  founded  on  the  laws  of  magnitude  and  motion ; 
we  must  therefore  give  him  three  doses  of  calomel,  in 
succession  ;  the  first  to  increase  the  magnitude  of  the 
stomach,  the  others  to  cause  motion." 

"  Pish,"  quoth  Doctor  Calomel ;  "  what  nonsense  is 
this,  about  salt,  sulphur,  and  mercury !  Paracelsus 
was  a  fool." 

"'Sdeath!,"  cried  Doctor  Jalap — (he  always  swore 
by  his  old  friend)  — "  'sdeath !  sir,  if  you  come  to  that, 
what  nonsense  is  this  about  bile,  and  phlegm,  and 
atrabile !  And  you,  sir,"  turning  to  Doctor  Rhubarb, 
"with  your  hydraulic  machine;  you  might  as  well  call 
a  man  a  forcing-pump  at  once.  Hippocrates  was  a 
great  blockhead,  and  knew  nothing  of  chemistry ;  and 
so  was  Meade,  and  Borelli,  and  the  rest  of  the  hydrau 
lic  machines." 

The  debate  was  getting  hot,  when  Dr.  Jalap,  who 
was  a  man  of  great  skill  and  experience  in  his  profes 
sion,  interposed  the  olive-branch. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  doctor,  "  nothing  weakens 
the  influence  of  the  profession,  and  destroys  the  conn- 


DYSPEPSY.  219 

dence  of  the  public  in  medicine,  so  much  as  the  oppo 
site  opinions  of  physicians.  Where  is  the  use  of 
quarrelling  about  the  disease,  when  we  all  agree  in 
the  remedy  ?  " 

So  they  ordered  the  calomel. 

But  it  would  not  do,  though  I  continued  my  sys 
tem  of  abstinence,  and  only  barely  tasted  a  little  of 
every  thing;  at  the  same  time  compromising  matters 
with  my  conscience,  by  drinking  twelve  half  glasses 
of  wine  instead  of  six  whole  ones.  The  doctors,  on 
the  whole,  did  me  more  harm  than  good.  Their  dif 
ferent  opinions  had  conjured  up  a  hundred  chimeras 
in  my  fancy,  and  inflicted  on  me  a  host  of  complaints 
I  never  dreamed  of  before.  Sometimes  the  conflicts 
of  the  bile  and  the  phlegm  turned  every  thing  topsy 
turvy  ;  anon  the  salt,  sulphur,  and  mercury,  fell  to 
gether  by  the  ears  ;  and  lastly,  the  hydraulic  machine 
got  terribly  out  of  order.  It  was  no  joke  then,  though 
now  I  can  look  back  upon  these  horrors  as  on  a  sea  of 
ills  that  I  have  safely  passed  over.  My  spirits  began 
to  sink ;  for  I  considered  that  I  had  now  tried  all  rem 
edies,  and  that  my  case  was  hopeless.  The  fear  of 
death,  swelled  into  a  gigantic  and  disproportioned 
magnitude  of  evil,  came  upon  me.  I  never  heard  of 
a  person  dying  of  a  disease,  be  it  what  it  would,  that 
I  di'd  not  make  that  the  bugbear  of  my  imagination, 
and  feel  all  the  symptoms  appropriate  to  it.  Thus  I 
had,  by  turns,  all  the  diseases  under  the  sun  ;  some 
times  separately,  sometimes  all  together.  The  sound 
of  a  church-bell  conjured  up  the  most  gloomy  associa 
tions,  and  the  sight  of  a  church-yard  withered  every 
tendril  of  hilarity  in  my  bosom.  In  short,  there  were 
moments  of  my  life  when  I  could  fully  comprehend 


220  DYSPEPSY. 

the  paradox,  that  a  human  being  may  seek  death  as  a 
relief  from  its  perpetual  apprehension,  even  as  the  bird 
flies  into  the  maw  of  the  serpent  from  the  mere  fas 
cination  of  terror. 

It- is  one  of  the  most  melancholy  features  of  the  dis 
ease  under  which  I  laboured,  that  it  creates  a  dis 
torted  apprehension  of  death  —  a  vague  and  horrible 
exaggeration,  ten  times  worse  than  the  reality.  In 
most  other  disorders,  the  pain  of  the  body  supersedes 
that  of  the  mind  ;  in  this,  the  mind  predominates  over 
the  body,  and  the  monstrous  future  swallows  up  the 
present  entirely.  This  was  the  case  with  me  ;  and 
often  have  I  welcomed  an  acute  fit  of  rheumatism  or 
colic,  as  a  cure  for  anticipated  evils.  I  had  another 
enemy  to  contend  with,  and  that  was  the  want  of 
sympathy.  People  laughed  at  my  complaints  when 
they  saw  me  eat  my  meals  with  so  good  an  appetite,  for 
the  world  seldom  gives  a  man  credit  for  ailing  in  any 
respect,  when  he  can  eat  his  allowance ;  nor  is  it  easy 
to  persuade  the  vulgar  that  there  is  such  a  disease  as 
appetite.  Besides,  a  man  who  is  always  complaining, 
and  never  seeming  to  grow  worse,  is  enough  to  tire 
the  patience  of  Job,  much  more  of  such  friends  as  Job 
and  most  afflicted  people  are  blessed  with.  My  mind 
was  in  a  perpetual  muddle  of  indecision.  One  day  I 
threw  all  my  phials,  and  boxes,  and  doses,  into  the 
street,  determined  to  take  no  more  physic ;  and  the 
next,  perhaps,  sent  for  some  more,  and  renewed  my 
potions.  I  had  lost  by  this  time  all  confidence  in  phy 
sicians,  but  still  continued  to  believe  in  physic. 

For  a  while,  white  mustard-seed  was  a  treasure  to 
me  ;  and  such  was  my  firm  reliance  on  its  wonderful 
virtues,  that  I  actually  indulged  myself  in  a  few  extra 


DYSPEPSY.  221 

glasses,  and  a  few  extra  luxuries,  on  the  credit  of  its 
prospective  operation.  I  read  all  the  guides  to  health, 
and  all  the  lectures  of  Doctor  Abernethy.  In  short,  I 
took  every  means  (but  the  only  proper  ones)  to  effect 
a  cure.  I  proportioned  my  eating  and  other  indul 
gences  to  my  faith  in  the  workings  of  my  favourite 
panacea.  When  I  took  a  dose  of  physic,  I  consid 
ered  myself  as  fairly  entitled  to  take  a  small  liberty 
the  day  after;  and  when  I  rode  or  walked  farther 
than  usual,  I  made  the  old  wine,  and  the  sauces  and 
plum-pudding,  pay  for  it.  It  was  thus  that  I  man 
aged  to  keep  myself  in  a  perfect  equilibrium,  and,  like 
another  Penelope,  undid  in  the  afternoon  the  work  of 
the  morning.  I  found,  after  all,  nothing  did  me  so 
much  good  as  laughing ;  but,  alas !,  what  was  there 
for  me  to  laugh  at  in  this  world ! 

The  summer  of  my  second  year  of  ease  and  luxury, 
I  was  advised  to  go  to  the  Springs,  where  all  the  doc 
tors  send  those  patients  who  get  out  of  patience  at 
not  being  cured  in  a  reasonable  time.  Here  I  found 
several  companions  in  affliction,  and  was  mightily 
comforted  to  learn  that  some  of  them  had  been  in 
their  present  state  almost  a  score  of  years,  without 
ever  dying  at  all.  We  talked  over  our  infirmities, 
and  I  found  there  was  a  wonderful  family  resem 
blance  in  them,  —  for  not  one  of  us  could  give  a  tol 
erable  account  of  his  symptoms.  One  was  bilious, 
another  rheumatic ;  a  third  was  nervous,  and  a  fourth 
was  all  these  put  together. 

"  Why  don't  you  exercise  in  the  open  air?  "  said  I, 
to  this  last  martyr,  one  day. 

"  I  catch  cold,  and  that  brings  on  my  rheumatism." 
"In  the  house,  then?" 


222  DYSPEPSY. 

"  It  makes  me  nervous." 

"  Why  don't  you  sit  still  ?  " 

"  It  makes  me  bilious." 

I  thank  my  stars,  thought  I,  here  is  a  man  to  grow 
happy  upon  ;  he  is  worse  off  than  myself.  He  be 
came  my  favourite  companion ;  and  no  one  can  tell 
how  much  better  I  felt  in  his  society. 

We  formed  a  select  coterie,  and  managed  to  sit  to 
gether  at  meals,  where  we  discussed  the  subject  of 
digestion.  We  were  all  blessed  with  excellent  appe 
tites,  and  particularly  fond  of  the  things  that  did  not 
agree  with  us. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Butterfield,  you  are  eating  the  very 
worst  thing  on  the  table." 

"  I  know  it,  my  dear  sir,  but  I  am  so  fond  of  it." 

"  My  good  friend  Mr.  Creamwell,  how  can  you 
taste  that  hot  bread?" 

"  My  dear  sir,  don't  you  see  I  only  eat  the  crust." 

"  Let  me  advise  you  not  to  try  that  green  corn,  Mr. 
Ambler.  It  is  the  worst  thing  in  the  world  for  dys 
peptic  people." 

"  Doubtless,  my  dear  Abstract ;  but  I  always  take 
good  care  to  chew,  before  I  swallow,  it." 

Thus  we  went  on,  discussing  and  eating,  and  I  par 
ticularly  noticed  that  every  one  ate  what  he  preferred, 
because,  the  fact  was,  he  was  so  particularly  fond  of 
that  particular  dish,  he  could  not  help  indulging  in  it 
sometimes.  However,  we  talked  a  great  deal  on  the 
subject  of  diet,  and  not  a  man  of  us  but  believed  him 
self  a  pattern  of  abstinence.  I  continued  my  custom 
of  riding,  every  fair  day,  and  occasionally  met  a  fat 
lady  fagging  along  on  a  little  fat  pony,  with  a  fat  ser 
vant  behind  her.  One  day,  when  it  was  excessively 


DYSPEPSY.  223 

hot,  I  could  not  help  asking  her  how  she  could  think 
of  riding  out  in  the  broiling  sun. 

"  O,  sir,  I'm  so  dyspeptic." 

I  happened  to  see  her  at  dinner  that  day,  and  did 
not  wonder  at  it. 

I  passed  my  time  rather  pleasantly  here,  with  my 
companions  in  misfortune.  We  exchanged  notes, 
compared  our  infirmities,  and  gave  a  full  and  true 
history  of  their  rise,  progress,  and  present  state,  al 
ways  leaving  out  the  eating.  By  degrees  I  became 
versed  in  the  history  of  each.  One  was  a  literary 
man,  and  a  poet.  He  set  out  in  life  with  the  neces 
sity  of  economy  and  exertion,  and  practiced  a  labori 
ous  profession  for  some  years,  when,  by  great  good 
fortune,  he  made  a  lucky  speculation,  that  enabled 
him  to  lead  a  life  of  ease  and  luxury.  He  devoted 
himself  to  the  muses,  and  gained  enough  of  reputa 
tion,  as  he  said,  to  make  him  indifferent  to  a  thing 
which  he  perceived  came  and  went  by  chance  or  fash 
ion.  However,  he  did  not  make  this  discovery  until 
after  several  of  his  works  had  been  condemned  to  ob 
livion.  Not  having  the  stimulus  of  necessity,  and 
without  the  habit  of  being  busy  about  nothing,  than 
which  none  can  be  more  essential  to  a  life  of  ease  and 
luxury,  he  gradually  sunk  into  indifference  and  lassi 
tude.  He  finally  took  to  eating,  and,  for  want  of 
some  other  object,  came  at  last  to  consider  his  dinner 
as  the  most  important  affair  of  life.  In  due  time  he 
lost  his  spirits  and  health,  and  came  to  the  Springs  to 
recover  them. 

"  I  ought  to  be  happy,"  said  he,  "  for  I  have  more 
than  a  sufficiency  of  money ;  and  as  for  fame,  I  look 
to  posterity  for  that." 


224  DYSPEPSY. 

The  next  person  of  our  coterie  was  a  man  who  in 
like  manner  had  begun  the  world  a  hardy,  yet  honest, 
adventurer.  By  dint  of  unwearied  perseverance  and 
the  exertion  of  his  excellent  faculties,  he  had  risen, 
step  by  step,  on  the  -ladder  of  fortune,  until,  at  the 
age  of  fifty,  he  was  in  possession  of  a  fair  estate  arid 
an  unsullied  name.  But  he  was  sorely  disappointed 
to  find  that  what  he  had  been  all  his  life  seeking  was 
in  fact  a  shadow.  This  is  the  common  error  of  san 
guine  tempers ;  they  first  exaggerate  the  object  of 
their  pursuit,  and  then  quarrel  with  it  because  it  does 
not  realize  their  expectations.  "  I  have  all  I  ever  pro 
posed  to  myself  in  pursuing  the  means  of  happiness," 
mused  he,  "  and,  for  aught  I  can  remember,  I  was  hap 
pier  in  what  I  sought  than  in  what  I  found.  I  will 
retire  from  these  vain  pursuits,  and  pass  the  rest  of 
my  life  in  ease  and  luxury."  Accordingly  he  settled 
himself  down,  and,  having  nothing  else  to  think  of  in 
the  morning,  his  time  hung  heavy  on  him  till  dinner. 
Of  consequence,  he  began  to  long  for  dinner-time ; 
and,  of  course,  dinner  became  an  object  of  great  con 
sequence.  It  was  an  era  in  the  four-and-twenty 
hours,  and  you  may  rely  on  it,  gentle  reader,  it  was 
properly  solemnized.  There  are  no  people  that  eat  so 
much  as  the  idle.  The  savage,  basking  in  the  sun  all 
day  with  his  pipe,  eats  thrice  as  much,  when  he  can 
get  it,  as  the  industrious  labourer.  The  inevitable 
results  of  luxurious  feeding  associated  with  inaction 
of  body  and  mind  made  their  appearance  in  good 
time,  and  my  friend  was  pronounced  dyspeptic.  Hav 
ing,  in  the  course  of  three  years,  consulted  twenty-five 
doctors ;  taken  a  half-bushel  of  white  mustard,  and 
fifty  kegs  of  Jamison's  Dyspepsy  crackers ;  and  swal- 


DYSPEPSY.  225 

lowed  six  hundred  doses  of  various  kinds  —  all  in 
vain,  (for  he  still  continued  to  have  a  glorious  appe 
tite,) —  he  at  last  came  to  the  Springs,  where  I  had  the 
happiness  to  meet  him. 

"  I  am  indifferent  to  the  world,"  said  he,  after  fin 
ishing  the  sketch,  —  "lam  indifferent  to  the  world 
and  all  it  contains." 

"  Then  why  do  you  take  such  pains  to  live  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  with  a  melancholy  smile ; 
"  I  sometimes  think  Providence  implanted  in  our 
hearts  the  fear  of  death,  in  order  to  enable  us  to  en 
dure  the  ills  of  life  without  fleeing  to  the  grave  for  a 
refuge."  . 

Another  of  my  new  friends  was  brought  up  to 
politics,  a  profession  rather  overstocked  at  present. 
I  will  not  enter  into  particulars,  but  merely  state,  that 
—  after  scuffling  at  meetings ;  declaiming  at  polls ; 
clinging  to  the  skirts  of  great  men ;  fagging  on  their 
errands ;  doing  for  them  what  they  were  ashamed  to 
do  for  themselves ;  and  sacrificing  all  private,  social, 
and  domestic  duties  to  his  party  principles ;  —  he  at 
length  attained  an  honourable  public  station,  which, 
being  permanent,  he  flattered  himself  would  secure 
him  an  independence  for  life.  He  accordingly  discon 
tinued  his  active  exertions,  and  confined  himself  to 
the  laborious  idleness  and  desperate  monotony  of  his 
office,  which,  although  it  did  not  furnish  employment, 
enforced  the  necessity  of  constant  attendance.  He 
grew  lazy,  idle,  and  luxurious.  The  morning  was  too 
long  for  his  occupations,  and  the  usual  consequence 
ensued ;  he  waited  for  his  dinner,  and  made  his  din 
ner  pay  for  it.  In  this  way  he  continued,  increasing 
in  riches,  and  complaining  of  his  health,  and  passing 

15 


225  DYSPEPSY. 

through  the  various  stages  of  Dyspepsy;  from  the 
doctor  to  the  horse,  from  the  horse  to  the  white 
mustard,  the  blue  pills,  and  Dr.  Abernethy  —  to  every 
thing,  in  short,  but  the  one  specific.  A  sudden  som 
erset  of  party,  in  which  all  his  friends  turned  their 
coats  but  himself,  brought  him  in  jeopardy  of  office. 
They  all  insisted  he  had  deserted  his  party,  when,  the 
fact  was,  his  party  had  deserted  him,  as  he  solemnly 
assured  me.  Be  this  as  it  may,  as  his  appointment 
was  for  life,  and  they  could  not  get  rid  of  the  incum 
bent,  they  got  at  him  in  another  way ;  they  abolished 
the  office  —  a  cunning  invention  of  modern  politicians. 
Having  nothing  to  keep  him  in  town,  he  came  to  the 
Springs,  to  nurse  his  Dyspepsy,  and  rail  at  the  ingrat 
itude  of  republics. 

There  is  but  one  more  of  the  party  to  be  mentioned. 
He  was  the  gentleman-of-all-work,  whose  diseases 
were  so  provokingly  contrasted  that  what  was  good 
for  one  was  bad  for  the  other.  Being  one  day  in 
terrogated  on  the  subject,  he  began :  — 

"I  was  born  in  the  lap  of — "  (here  he  yawned 
pathetically),  "  and  I  shall  die  in  the  arms  of —  "  (here 
he  gave  another  great  yawn),  "  but  really  gentlemen, 
I  feel  so  nervous,  and  bilious,  and  rheumatic,  this 
morning  —  I  am  sure  the  wind  is  easterly  —  pray  ex 
cuse  me  —  some  other  time."  So  saying,  he  yawned 
once  more,  and  went  to  see  which  way  the  wind  blew. 

My  readers,  if  they  are  such  readers  as  alone  I  ad 
dress  myself  to,  in  looking  back  upon  the  growth  of 
whatever  wisdom  and  experience  time  and  opportu 
nity  may  have  gathered  for  them,  will  have  observed 
that  a  particular  branch  of  knowledge,  or  a  special 
conviction  of  the  understanding,  will  often  baffle  our 


DYSPEPSY.  227 

pursuit  for  a  long  while.  We  grope  in  the  dark  — 
we  lose  ourselves  —  lose  sight  of  the  object  —  yet  are 
we  gaining  upon  it,  unknown  and  imperceptibly  to 
ourselves.  The  light  is  hidden,  though  just  at  hand, 
and,  finally,  all  at  once  bursts  upon  us,  illuminates  the 
mind,  and  brings  with  it  the  full,  perfect  perception. 
Thus  was  it  with  me.  I  had  read  all  the  most-ap 
proved  books,  to  come  at  the  mystery  of  a  man's  be 
ing  always  sick  and  always  hungry ;  and  I  had  taken 
all  the  steps,  save  one,  which  they  recommended, 
either  as  cures  or  palliatives.  I  was  still  in  the  dark, 
but  I  was  approaching  the  light.  The  history  of  my 
complaining  friends  at  once  put  me  upon  the  right 
path.  I  saw  in  them  what  I  could  not  see  in  my 
self. 

On  comparing  their  autobiographies  —  odious, 
clumsy  word !  —  I  could  not  but  perceive  a  family 
likeness  in  all.  They  had  commenced  the  world  with 
active,  exciting  occupations,  and  were  all  too  busy, 
as  well  as  too  poor,  in  their  youth,  to  become  gluttons; 
and,  again,  they  had,  without  an  exception,  attained 
at  mid-age  the  means  of  assuring  a  life  of  luxury  and 
ease.  They  had  arrived  at  stations  in  which  they 
could  enjoy  both  without  the  necessity  of  exerting 
either  body  or  mind,  and  they  did  enjoy  them.  But 
they  wanted  something,  still  —  they  wanted  a  hobby 
horse,  a  stimulus  of  some  kind  or  other,  sufficiently 
piquant  to  urge  their  minds  along  without  dragging 
on  the  ground,  or  rusting  out  with  inanity.  They 
were  in  the  situation  of  a  pair  of  pampered  horses, 
belonging  to  a  friend  of  mine,  a  great  mathematician, 
who,  though  he  kept  a  carriage,  never  rode  in  it.  Of 
course  they  got  plump,  clumsy,  and  dyspeptic;  and 


228  DYSPEPSY. 

never  were  used,  without  either  falling  lame,  or  tum 
bling  on  their  knees.  My  friend  cast  about  for  a  remedy, 
and  at  length  hit  upon  one  worthy  of  a  philosopher.  He 
invented  a  machine,  which,  being  fastened  to  the  axle- 
tree  of  his  carriage,  made  an  excellent  corn-mill ;  and 
sent  his  horses  out  every  day,  to  take  an  airing,  and 
grind  their  own  corn.  The  friction  of  the  machine 
created  a  wholesome  necessity  for  exertion  in  the 
horses,  which,  in  a  little  time,  became  perfectly  ser 
viceable,  active,  and  sprightly.  My  companions  in 
misery  only  wanted  to  be  under  the  necessity  of  grind 
ing  their  own  corn,  and,  like  the  horses  of  my  friend 
the  mathematician,  to  combine  the  pleasure  of  eating 
with  the  labour  of  earning  a  meal. 

Next  to  this  necessity  for  exertion  is  a  hobby,  a 
pursuit  of  some  kind  or  other,  something  to  awake 
the  sleeping  mind,  if  it  be  only  to  get  up  and  play 
puss-in-a-corner.  I  know  a  worthy  gentleman  who 
has  kept  off  Ennui  and  her  twin  sister,  Dyspepsy,  by  a 
habit  of  going  every  day  round  all  the  docks,  counting 
the  vessels,  and  reading  the  names  on  the  stern.  He 
came  nigh  being  drowned  the  other  day,  in  leaning 
over  the  edge  of  a  wharf  to  find  out  the  name  of 
a  beautiful  new  ship.  Another  distances  the  foul 
fiend,  which  is  as  lazy  as  an  overfed  house-dog,  by 
walking  up  one  street  and  down  another,  examining 
all  the  new  houses  that  are  being  built,  counting  the 
number  of  rooms,  closets,  and  pantries,  and  noting 
divers  other  particulars.  He  can  describe  the  marble 
mantel-pieces  of  every  new  house  in  town.  But, 
in  my  opinion,  the  wisest  of  all  my  friends  was  a 
wealthy  idler,  who  was  fast  sinking  into  subjection  to 
this  ghoul  of  the  age.  He  all  at  once  bethought  him- 


DYSPEPSY.  229 

self  of  altering  his  dinner  hour,  and  afterwards  went 
about  telling  the  news  to  all  his  friends.  Let  not  the 
dingy  moralists,  who  send  out  their  decrees  for  the 
acquisition  of  happiness  from  the  depths  of  darkness, 
and  know  no  more  of  the  world  than  a  ground-mole, 
turn  up  their  noses  at  these  my  especial  friends.  Did 
they  know  what  they  ought  to  know  before  they  set 
themselves  up  as  teachers,  they  would  comprehend 
that,  when  men  have  made  their  fortunes  by  industry 
and  economy  and  have  paid  their  debt  to  society  in  use 
ful  and  honourable  labour,  there  comes  a  time  when 
the  bow  must  be  unstrung  —  when  amusements,  or  at 
least  light  avocations,  become  indispensable,  and  trifles 
assume  importance,  because  they  exercise  the  influ 
ence  of  weighty  circumstances  on  our  happiness.  It 
is  then  that  he  who  can  find  out  an  innocent  mode 
of  living,  and  innocent  sources  of  recreation,  which 
interfere  with  no  one's  happiness,  and  contribute  to 
his  own  —  which  keep  his  mind  from  preying  on 
itself,  and  his  body  healthy  —  is  better  entitled  to  the 
honours  of  philosophy  than  inexperienced  people  are 
aware. 

What  would  have  been  the  effect  of  the  new  light 
which  had  thus  broken  in  upon  me  —  whether  habit 
would  have  yielded  to  conviction,  or  whether  (as  is 
generally  the  case  with  old  offenders)  I  should  have 
continued  to  act  against  my  better  reason,  —  I  know 
not.  Happily,  as  I  now  am  convinced,  I  was  not  left 
to  decide  for  myself.  Fortune  took  the  affair  in  her 
own  hands.'  One  morning  I  received  a  letter,  appris 
ing  me  of  the  failure  of  our  house,  and  the  probable 
ruin  it  would  bring  upon  myself.  That  very  day  I 
set  out  for  the  city,  with  a  vigour  and  activity  beyond 


230  DYSPEPSY. 

all  praise,  and  proceeded  directly  on,  without  stopping 
by  the  way  or  once  thinking  of  my  digestion. 

"  Adieu,"  said  the  poet,  as  I  took  leave  of  him  ; 
"  never  trust  to  the  present  age,  but  look  to  posterity 
for  your  reward." 

"  Farewell,"  said  the  despiser  of  this  world ;  "  take 
care  of  your  health,  and  never  eat  sausages." 

"  Good-by,"  said  the  politician ;  "  beware  of  the 
ingratitude  of  republics." 

"  Day-day,  Mr.  Ambler,"  said  the  nervous  gentle 
man  ;  "  can  you  tell  me  which  way  the  wind  blows  ? 
I  wish  you  all  hap  —  "  here  he  was  beset  by  a  yawn, 
which  lasted  till  I  was  in  my  carriage  and  on  the  way 
to  the  city. 

Arriving  in  town,  I  plunged  into  a  sea  of  troubles. 
The  younger  partner  of  our  house,  being  in  a  hurry 
to  grow  rich,  had  encouraged  a  habit  of  speculating, 
which,  unfortunately  for  us  all,  produced  a  pernicious 
habit  of  gambling  in  schemes  of  vast  magnitude. 
Having  thrown  doublets  two  or  three  times  in  suc 
cession,  he  did  not,  like  a  wise  calculator,  conclude 
that  his  luck  must  be  nearly  exhausted,  and  retire  from 
the  game  with  his  winnings.  He  doubled  again,  and 
lost  all.  I  will  not  fatigue  my  readers  with  the  details 
of  a  bankruptcy  of  this  kind.  It  will  be  sufficient  to 
say  that  I  took  the  business  directly  in  hand ;  nearly 
deranged  my  head  in  arranging  my  affairs ;  and,  by 
dint  of  extraordinary  industry,  and  I  will  say  extraor 
dinary  integrity,  managed  to  do  what  only  three  men 
before  me  in  similar  circumstances  had  ever  done  in 
this  city  since  the  landing  of  Hendrik  Hudson.  I 
paid  the  debts  of  the  firm  to  the  last  farthing,  leaving 
myself  nothing  but  a  good  name,  a  good  conscience, 


DYSPEPSY.  231 

and  a  large  farm  in  the  very  centre  of  the  Highlands. 
I  worked  every  day  in  the  business,  like  a  hero,  and 
took  no  care  what  I  should  eat  or  what  I  should 
drink.  My  mind  was  fully  occupied,  and  I  was  per 
petually  running  about,  or  examining  into  my  affairs 
at  the  counting-house. 

I  went  to  pay  off  my  last  and  greatest  debt,  to  my 
last  creditor,  a  hard-featured,  hard-working,  gigantic 
Scotchman,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  most 
inflexible  dealer.  When  all  was  settled,  he  said, 

"  Mr.  Ambler,  of  course  you  mean  to  begin  business 
again.  Remember  that  my  credit,  ay  sir,  my  purse,  is 
at  your  service.  You  have  gained  my  confidence." 

"  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Hardup,"  replied  I,  "  warmly, 
sincerely ;  for  I  know  you  are  sincere  in  your  offers. 
But  I  mean  to  retire  into  the  country  with  what  I 
have  saved  from  the  wreck  of  my  fortune.  I  am  tired 
of  business,  and  too  poor  to  be  idle.  I  have  a  farm 
in  the  mountains,  which,  I  thank  God,  is  mine  ;  for 
my  creditors  are  all  paid.  You,  sir,  are  the  last." 

"Very  well,  very  well,"  replied  Mr.  Hardup,  stalk 
ing  about  according  to  his  wont ;  —  "  but,  is  your  farm 
stocked,  and  all  that  ?  " 

I  was  obliged  to  answer  in  the  negative.  It  was 
almost  in  a  state  of  nature.  Mr.  Hardup  said  noth 
ing  more,  and  I  bade  him  farewell  with  a  feeling  of 
indignation  at  his  idle  inquiries.  The  next  day,  I  re 
ceived  the  following  note,  enclosing  a  check  for  a 
sum  which  I  shall  not  mention :  — 

"  SIR — You  must  have  something  to  stock  your 
farm.  Pay  the  enclosed  when  you  are  able.  I  shall 
come  and  see  you  one  of  these  days,  when  you  are 


232  DYSPEPSY. 

settled.  Send  me  neither  receipt  nor  thanks  for  the 
money.  There  is  more  where  that  came  from.  You 
have  gained  my  confidence,  I  repeat;  and  no  man 
ever  gained  that,  without  I  hope  being  the  better  for 
it,  sooner  or  later. 

"  Your  friend  and  servant, 

"  ALEXANDER  HARDUP." 

"  P.  S.  Get  up  early  in  the  morning ;  see  to  mat 
ters  yourself;  and  never  buy  any  thing  dear  except  a 
good  name.  A.  H." 

A  worthy  man  was  this  Mr.  Hardup ;  and  I  shall 
never  again,  while  I  live,  judge  of  any  body  by  the 
expression  of  the  face,  or  the  common  report  of  the 
world. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1818  that  I  bade 
adieu  to  the  city,  and  went  to  take  possession  of  my 
farm,  where  I  arrived  just  when  the  sun  was  gilding 
the  mountain-tops  with  his  retreating  rays,  as  he  sunk 
behind  the  equally  high  hills  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  river.  The  scene  indeed  was  beautiful  to  look  at, 
but  by  no  means  encouraging  to  a  man  who  was 
going  to  set  himself  down  here  and  labour  for  a  live 
lihood.  I  was  received  by  an  old  man  and  his  wife, 
who  had  occupied  my  farm  a  long  time,  at  a  very 
moderate  rent  which  they  never  paid.  The  aspect  of 
the  house  was  melancholy  —  broken  windows,  broken 
chairs,  and  a'  broken  table.  But  there  was  plenty  of 
fresh  air,  and  I  slept  that  night  on  a  straw-bed,  and 
studied  astronomy  through  the  holes  in  the  roof.  The 
dead  silence  too  that  reigned  in  this  Jonely  retreat, 
contrasted  with  the  ceaseless  racket  of  the  town,  to 


DYSPEPSY.  233 

which  I  had  been  so  long  accustomed,  had  a  mourn 
ful  effect  on  my  spirits,  and  disposed  my  mind  to 
gloomy  thoughts  of  the  future.  The  fatigue  of  my 
journey,  however,  at  last  overpowered  me,  and  I  fell 
asleep  in  the  certainty  of  waking  next  morning  with 
some  terrible  malady  arising  from  my  exposed  situa 
tion.  It  is  a  singular  fact,  that  I  slept  that  night 
more  sweetly  than  I  had  done  ever  since  I  determined 
upon  the  enjoyment  of  a  life  of  luxury  and  ease  ;  and, 
what  is  equally  singular,  I  waked  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  without  either  a  sore  throat,  a  swelled  face,  or  a 
rheumatic  headache.  I  am  certain  of  this,  for  I  felt 
my  throat,  shook  my  head  to  hear  if  it  cracked,  and 
looked  in  a  bit  of  glass  to  see  if  my  face  retained  its 
true  proportions.  I  confess  I  was  rather  disappointed. 
"  But  never  mind,"  thought  I,  "  I  shall  certainly  pay 
for  it  to-morrow." 

The  morrow  came,  however,  and  I  was  again  dis 
appointed.  I  was  sure  it  would  come  the  next  day. 
But,  wonderful  as  it  may  seem,  I  thought  I  felt  better 
than  when  I  had  slept  in  a  feather-bed  and  a  close 
room  warmed  with  anthracite  coal.  I  began  to  be 
encouraged,  and  by  degrees  became  reconciled  to  the 
enormity  of  sleeping  on  a  straw-bed,  in  a  room  where 
the  air  was  playing  about  in  zephyrs,  without  catch 
ing  cold.  My  reader,  if  he  chance  to  be  in  the  enjoy 
ment  of  ease  and  luxury,  will  shrink  with  horror  from 
my  dinners,  which  consisted  of  a  piece  of  salt  pork 
and  potatoes  for  the  first  course,  and  some  bread  and 
butter,  or  bread  and  milk,  for  the  dessert.  At  first,  [ 
was  certain  the  pork  would  produce  indigestion ;  but, 
I  suppose,  as  there  was  nothing  particularly  inviting 
in  it,  I  did  not  eat  enough  to  do  me  any  harm,  for  I 


!34  DYSPEPSY. 


certainly  felt  as  light  as  a  feather  after  my  meals,  and, 
instead  of  dozing  away  an  hour  in  a  chair,  was  ready 
for  exercise  at  a  minute's  warning. 

The  old  couple  welcomed  me  to  my  "  nice  place," 
and  were  exceedingly  eloquent  in  praise  of  my  nice, 
comfortable  house,  the  nice  pork,  the  bread  and  but 
ter,  and  the  milk,  all  equally  "  nice."  By  degrees  I 
began  to  be  infected  with  their  artless  content,  and 
sometimes  actually  caught  myself  enjoying  the  scanty 
comforts  around  me.  I  did  not  cudgel  myself  into  an 
unwilling  submission  to  necessity ;  but  I  benefited  by 
the  example  of  the  honest  old  couple  without  reason 
ing  at  all  about  the  matter.  Reason  and  precept  are 
a  sort  of  pedagogues  that,  at  best,  bring  about  but  a 
grumbling  acquiescence ;  while  example  conies  in  the 
shape  of  a  gentle  guide,  himself  pursuing  the  right 
way,  and  not  commanding  us  to  follow,  but  beckon 
ing  us  on  with  smiles. 

-  I  confess,  when  I  looked  about  on  my  domain,  I 
despaired  of  ever  bringing  it  into  order,  beauty,  or 
productiveness.  I  knew  not  the  magic  of  labour  and 
perseverance ;  nor  did  I  dream  that  the  fields  around 
me,  which  seemed  only  fruitful  in  rocks  and  stones, 
could  ever  be  made  to  wrave  in  golden  grain  or  green 
meadows.  The  only  spot  of  all  my  extensive  estate 
that  seemed  susceptible  of  improvement  was  about 
twenty  acres  that  lay  directly  before  my  door,  between 
two  shelving  rocky  mountains,  and  through  which  ran 
a  little  brook  of  clear  spring-water.  But  even  this 
was  so  sprinkled  with  rocks  which  had  rolled  down 
from  the  neighbouring  hills,  that  it  was  sufficiently 
discouraging  to  a  man  who  had  for  several  years  worn 
spatterdashes,  because  he  shrunk  from  pulling  on  his 


DYSPEPSY.  235 

boots.  I  spent  a  month,  nearly,  in  pondering  on  what 
I  should  first  undertake,  and  ended  in  despairing  to 
undertake  any  thing. 

One  day  I  was  leaning  over  the  bars  at  the  entrance 
to  my  house,  when  a  tall,  raw-boned  figure,  with 
hardly  an  ounce  of  flesh  to  his  complement,  came  rid 
ing  along  on  a  horse  as  hardy  and  raw-boned  as 
himself.  He  stopped  at  the  bars,  and  bade  me  good- 
morning.  In  justice  to  myself  I  must  say  that, 
though  proud  enough  in  all  conscience,  I  am  not  one 
of  those  churls  who,  because  they  have  a  better  coat 
to  their  backs,  (which,  by  the  way,  often  belongs  to 
the  tailor),  think  themselves  entitled  to  receive  the  hon 
est  salute  of  an  honest  man  with  coldness  or  contempt. 
Beshrew  me  such  arrant  blockheads,  they  call  this 
vulgar  insolence,  when,  in  fact,  it  is  the  impulse  of 
nature,  whispering  to  the  inmost  man  that  there  is 
nothing  in  outward  circumstances,  or  the  difference 
of  wealth  or  dress,  which  places  one  being  so  high 
above  another  that  he  must  not  speak  to  him  when 
they  happen  to  meet  or  be  thrown  together.  Even 
when  I  was  enjoying  a  life  of  luxury  and  ease,  and 
possessed  of  great  wealth,  it  was  a  pleasure  to  me  to 
talk  with  these  honest  fellows  in  linsey-woolsey;  and 
I  will  here  bear  this  testimony,  that  I  have  gained 
from  them  more  practical  knowledge,  heard  more 
plain  good-sense,  and  caught  more  valuable  hints  for 
the  government  and  enjoyment  of  life,  than  I  ever  did 
from  all  the  philosophers  I  ever  conversed  with,  or  all 
the  books  I  ever  read. 

"  Good  morning,  good  morning,"  said  the  tall  man 
on  the  tall  horse;  and,  "  good  morning,  good  morning," 
replied  I,  not  to  be  outdone  in  courtesy. 


236  DYSPEPSY. 

"  I  believe  you  don't  know  me,"  said  he,  after  a 
short  pause,  which,  short  as  it  was,  proved  the  longest 
he  ever  made  in  his  conversations  with  me.  "  I  be 
lieve  you  don't  know  me ;  my  name  is  Lightly,  and  1 
am  your  next  neighbour  over  the  mountain  yonder." 

"  And  my  name  is  Ambler,"  said  I,  "  and  I  am 
heartily  glad  to  have  you  for  a  neighbour.  Won't 
you  alight?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  do ;  it  was  partly  my  busi 
ness  to  come  and  have  a  talk  with  you." 

Mr.  Lightly  accordingly  dismounted,  and,  fastening 
his  horse  under  a  tree  to  protect  him  from  the  sun, 
which  was  waxing  hot,  followed  me  into  the  house. 
After  taking  something,  he  looked  about,  first  at  one 
mountain,  then  at  another,  and  at  length  began:  — 
"  A  rough  country,  this  you've  got  into,  Mr.  Ambler." 

"  Very,"  replied  I ;  "so  rough,  that  I  am  afraid  I 
shall  never  make  any  part  of  it  smooth." 

«  No  ?  "  said  Mr.  Lightly ;  «  why  not  ?  " 

"  Look  at  the  trees." 

"  You  must  cut  them  down," 

"  Look  at  the  rocks." 

"  You  must  grub  them  up,  they'll  make  excellent 
stone  walls." 

"  Doubtless,  if  I  had  the  people  who  piled  Ossa  on 
Pelion  to  assist  me."  Mr.  Lightly  had  never  read  the 
history  of  the  great  rebellion  of  the  giants,  and  rather 
stared  at  me.  "  But,"  added  I,  "  do  you  really  think 
I  can  make  any  thing  out  of  these  mountains  ?  " 

"  Do  I  ?  "  said  he ;  "  only  come  over  and  see  me  to 
morrow,  and  I  will  give  you  proof  of  it ;  but  no,  now 
I  think  of  it,  not  to-morrow,  the  day  after.  I  am 
going  to  step  over  to  Poughkeepsie  to-morrow,  and 
sha'n't  be  back  till  sundown." 


DYSPEPSY.  237 

"  Poughkeepsie ! "  cried  I,  —  "  and  back  again  in 
one  day !  Why,  'tis  sixty  miles  :  you  mean,  you'll  be 
back  the  day  after  to-morrow  evening." 

"  No  I  don't.  I  mean  to-morrow  evening,  God 
willing ;  but  my  days  are  much  longer  than  yours." 

"  I  should  think  so :  you  mean  to  make  the  sun 
stand  still,  like  Joshua." 

"  No  I  don't,  though  my  name  is  Joshua.  I  mean 
to  be  up  at  the  first  crowing  of  an  old  cock,  that 
never  sleeps  after  three  in  the  morning,  in  summer." 

"  But,  you've  got  a  horse,  why  don't  you  ride  ?  " 

"  O,  that  would  take  me  two  days  ;  and  I  can't  well 
spare  the  time.  I  never  ride  when  I'm  in  a  hurry." 

So  saying,  Mr.  Lightly,  after  getting  my  promise  to 
come  over  the  next  day  but  one,  took  his  departure, 
leaving  me  to  ponder  on  the  vast  improbability  of  a 
man's  walking  to  Poughkeepsie  and  back  again  in  one 
day.  If  he  does,  thought  I,  I  shall  begin  to  believe  in 
the  seven-league  boots. 

On  the  morning  appointed,  my  old  man  guided  me 
by  a  winding  path  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain ; 
and,  pointing  to  a  comfortable-looking  house,  flanked 
by  a  large  barn  and  other  out-buildings,  which  stood 
in  the  midst  of  green  meadows  and  cultivated  fields, 
told  me  that  was  the  place  to  which  I  was  going.  As 
I  paused  awhile  to  contemplate  the  rural  scene,  I 
could  not  help  wishing  that  it  had  pleased  Providence 
to  cast  my  lot  where  the  rocks  were  so  scarce,  and  the 
meadows  so  green.  Lightly  saw  me  at  the  top  of  the 
hill,  and,  making  some  half  a  dozen  long  strides  with 
his  long  legs,  met  me  more  than  half-way  up  the 
mountain  side. 

"  Good  morning,  good  morning,"  said  he,  for  I  soon 


238  DYSPEPSY. 

found  he  was  very  fond  of  talking,  and  often  repeated 
the  same  thing  to  keep  himself  going. 

I  returned  his  salutation,  adding,  "  I  see  you  have 
got  back." 

"  O  yes ;  but  not  quite  so  soon  as  I  calculated.  I 
went  about  four  miles  out  of  my  way,  to  bring  home 
my  old  woman's  yarn  from  the  manufactory,  and  it 
was  almost  dark  before  I  got  home." 

During  this  brief  dialogue  he  had  shot  ahead  of  me 
two  or  three  times.  "  You  are  no  great  walker,  I  see," 
said  Mr.  Lightly. 

"  Why,  no ;  I  don't  think  I  could  walk  sixty-eight 
miles  a  day,  in  the  month  of  June,  without  being  a 
little  tired." 

"  There's  nothing  like  trying,"  said  he. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  try,"  thought  I. 

My  new  friend,  Mr.  Lightly,  kept  me  with  him  all 
day,  showing  me  what  he  had  done  in  the  course  of 
eight  or  ten  years,  and  describing  his  farm  as  it  was, 
when  he  first  purchased  it  for  little  or  nothing.  We 
came  to  a  beautiful  meadow,  which  I  could  not  help 
admiring,  and  wishing  I  had  such  a  one  on  my  farm. 

"  You  have  a  much  finer  one,"  said  Lightly. 

"  Where?  I  never  saw  it." 

"  Directly  before  your  door." 

"  That !  —  why,  it  is  paved  with  rocks." 

"  Well,  and  so  was  this." 

"  What  has  become  of  them  all  ?  " 

"  There  they  are,"  —  pointing  to  the  wall  which  sur 
rounded  the  meadow. 

The  wall  seemed  a  work  of  the  Cyclops,  or  the 
builders  of  the  pyramids,  for  it  was  literally  rocks 
piled  on  rocks,  "  as  if  by  magic  spell."  I  inquired 


DYSPEPSY.  239 

how  he  got  them  one  upon  the  other,  as  I  did  not  see 
any  machinery. 

"  We  had  no  machines  but  such  as  these,"  holding 
out  his  hard,  bony  hands,  and  baring  part  of  his  arms, 
that  were  nothing  but  twisted  sinews. 

"  But  you  did  not  dig  these  rocks  out  of  the  ground, 
and  pile  them  up  here,  all  by  yourself,  surely  ?  " 

"  No,  no ;  not  quite  that,  either.  I  have  six  boys, 
who  assisted  me.  You  shall  see  them ;  they  will  be 
home  from  work,  presently." 

"  Fine  boys'  work !  Faith,  I  should  like  to  see 
them." 

"  Yonder  they  come,"  said  Mr.  Lightly. 

I  followed  the  direction  of  his  eye,  and  beheld  com 
ing  down  the  hill,  afar  off,  what  I  took  for  six  giants, 
striding  onward  with  intent  to  devour  us  at  one  meal. 
As  they  advanced  towards  me  my  apprehensions  sub 
sided,  for  I  saw,  in  their  open  countenances  and  clear 
blue  eyes,  indubitable  tokens  of  harmlessness  and 
good-nature.  I  never  saw  such  men  before ;  and  here 
in  the  mountains,  out  of  the  sphere  of  those  arti 
ficial  distinctions  which  level  in  some  measure  all 
physical  disparities,  I  could  not  help  feeling  a  sort  of 
qualm  of  inferiority.  In  the  crowded  city,  and  amid 
the  conflicts  of  civilized  society,  the  mind  predomi 
nates  ;  but  here  my  business  was  to  cut  down  trees 
and  remove  rocks,  and  the  man  best  qualified  for 
these  was  the  great  man  for  my  money.  After  seeing 
these  "  boys,"  I  did  not  so  much  wonder  at  the  mira 
cles  they  had  achieved.  The  whole  farm,  in  fact,  ex 
hibited  proofs  of  the  wonders  which  may  be  wrought 
by  a  few  strong  arms,  animated  and  impelled  by  as 
many  stout  hearts. 


240  DYSPEPSY. 

"  You  see  what  we  have  done,"  said  Lightly  ;  "why 
can't  you  do  the  same  ?  " 

"  My  good  sir,  I  am  neither  a  giant  myself,  nor 
have  I  any  sons  that  are  giants." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he,  "  I  will  tell  you  what  was 
partly  my  reason  —  what  was  partly  my  reason  for 
asking  you  over  to  see  me.  My  youngest  boy  —  step 
out,  Ahasuerus  —  my  youngest  boy  is  just  married, 
and,  as  our  hive  is  pretty  full,  it  is  necessary  that  he 
should  swarm  out  with  his  wife,  who  is  a  good,  hearty, 
industrious  girl,  that  will  be  excellent  help  for  your 
old  woman.  You  can't  get  on,  at  first,  without  some 
hard  work,  and  you  will  not  be  able  to  work  yourself 
for  some  time,  very  hard ;  you  will  want  such  a  boy 
as  mine,  to  break  the  way  a  little  smooth  for  you." 

I  caught  at  the  proposal,  instantly ;  we  were  not 
long  coming  to  terms,  and  in  three  days  the  new- 
married  couple,  the  boy  and  the  girl,  were  established 
at  my  house. 

"  She  don't  know  any  thing  about  house-keeping," 
said  my  old  woman. 

"  You  shall  teach  her,"  said  I ;  and  she  went  about 
her  work,  perfectly  content. 

"  He  is  a  mere  boy,"  quoth  my  old  man  ;  —  "  what 
can  he  know  of  farming ! " 

"  He  will  learn  it  of  you,"  said  I ;  and  the  old  man 
felt  as  proud  as  a  peacock. 

My  Polyphemus  with  two  eyes,  set  to  work  without 
delay,  under  the  direction  of  my  old  man,  who  talked 
a  great  deal  and  did  nothing ;  and  who,  after  having 
given  his  opinion,  was  content  to  follow  that  of  the 
other.  I  was  busy,  too,  looking  on ;  running  about, 
doing  little  or  nothing;  but  taking  an  interest,  and 


DYSPEPSY.  241 

sympathizing  with  the  lusty  labours  of  the  young 
giant  Ahasuerus  to  such  a  degree,  that  I  have  often 
actually  fallen  into  a  violent  perspiration,  at  seeing  him 
prying  up  a  large  stone.  Thus  I  got  a  great  deal  of 
the  benefit  of  hard  work,  without  actually  fatiguing 
myself.  By  degrees,  I  came  to  work  a  little  myself; 
and  when  I  did  not  work,  I  gave  my  advice,  and  saw 
the  others  work.  One  day  —  it  was  the  crisis  of  my 
life  —  one  day,  Ahasuerus  and  the  old  man  were  at 
tempting  to  raise  a  rock  out  of  the  ground  by  means 
of  a  lever,  but  their  weight  was  not  sufficient.  They 
tried  several  times,  but  in  vain  ;  whereat  the  spirit 
came  upon  me,  and,  seizing  the  far  end  of  the  lever, 
I  hung  upon  it  with  all  my  might,  kicking  most  man 
fully  the  while.  The  rock  yielded  to  our  united  ex 
ertions,  and  rolled  out  of  the  ground.  It  was  my 
victory. 

"  We  should  not  have  got  it  out  without  you,"  said 
Ahasuerus. 

"  It  was  all  your  doing,"  quoth  the  old  man. 

But,  to  tell  the  honest  truth,  I  quaked  in  the  midst 
of  my  triumph,  lest  this  unheard-of  exertion  might 
have  injured  a  blood-vessel,  or  strained  some  of  the 
vital  parts.  That  night,  I  thought,  some  how  or  other, 
I  felt  rather  faintish  and  languid.  But  it  may  be  I 
was  only  a  little  sleepy;  for  I  fell  asleep  in  five  min 
utes,  and  did  not  wake  till  sunrise.  It  was  some  time 
before  I  could  persuade  myself  I  was  quite  well ;  but, 
being  unable  fairly  to  detect  any  thing  to  the  contrary, 
I  arose  and  walked  forth  into  the  freshness  of  the 
morning,  and  my  spirit  laughed  in  concert  with  the 
sprightly  insects  and  chirping  birds. 

After  this  I  became  bolder  and  bolder,  until,  finally, 
16 


242  DYSPEPSY. 

animated  by  the  example  of  the  great  Ahasuerus, 
I  one  day  laid  hold  of  a  rock,  and  rolled  it  fairly  out 
of  its  bed.  I  was  astonished  at  this  feat;  I  had  no 
idea  that  I  could  make  the  least  exertion,  without 
suffering  for  it  severely  in  some  way  or  other.  I 
never  could  do  it  before,  —  and  what  is  the  reason  I 
can  do  it  now,  thought  I ;  I  certainly  used  to  feel  very 
faint,  sometimes,  on  occasion  of  drawing  a  hard  cork 
out  of  a  bottle.  My  new  monitor,  experience,  whis 
pered  me  that  this  was  nothing  but  apprehension, 
which,  when  it  becomes  a  habit  and  gains  a  certain 
mastery  over  the  mind,  produces  a  sensation  allied  to 
faintness.  It  embarrasses  the  pulsation,  and  that  oc 
casions  a  feeling  of  swooning.  The  mental  impres 
sion  causes  the  physical.  I  was  never  so  happy  in 
my  whole  life  as  when  I  received  this  lesson  of  ex 
perience.  I  was  no  longer  afraid  of  dying  off-hand, 
of  the  exertion  of  drawing  a  cork. 

o 

Thus  we  went  on  during  the  summer.  The  salt 
pork  relished  wonderfully ;  the  bread  and  milk  be 
came  a  delicious  dessert ;  and  the  rocks  daily  vanished 
from  the  meadow,  as  if  by  magic.  The  autumn 
now  approached,  and  I  bethought  myself  how  I  should 
get  through  the  winter,  with  so  many  broken  panes, 
and  so  many  skylights  in  the  roof  of  my  house. 
There  was  neither  carpenter  nor  glazier  in  ten  miles, 
and  I  was  at  a  loss  what  to  do.  I  spoke  to  Ahasue 
rus  the  Great  about  it.  "  If  you  will  get  me  a  few 
shingles  and  nails,  and  some  glass  and  putty,  I  will 
do  it  myself,"  said  he.  "  If  you  can  do  it,  so  can  I," 
said  I ;  for  I  began  to  be  a  little  jealous  of  Ahasuerus. 
Accordingly,  I  procured  the  materials,  and,  mounting 
on  the  roof,  went  to  work  zealously.  It  was  a  devil 


DYSPEPSY.  2-13 

of  a  business ;  but  I  got  through  at  last.  It  did  not 
look  very  well,  to  be  sure ;  but  it  kept  out  the  rain,  the 
snow,  and  the  keen  air.  Encouraged  at  my  unac 
countable  ingenuity  as  a  carpenter,  I  turned  glazier, 
and  broke  six  panes  of  glass  in  no  time.  With  the 
seventh,  however,  I  succeeded ;  and  well  it  was  that  I 
did  so,  for  I  had  determined  this  attempt  should  be 
the  last,  and  its  failure  would  have  forever  satisfied 
rne  that  none  but  a  man  who  had  learned  the  trade 
of  a  glazier  could  put  in  a  pane  of  glass.  As  it  was, 
I  passed  from  the  extreme  of  depression  and  vexation 
to  that  of  exaltation  and  vanity. 

"  How  easy  it  is  to  get  on  in  this  world,  and  with 
what  small  means  we  may  attain  to  all  the  necessary 
comforts  of  life ! "  cried  I :  "  men  make  themselves 
slaves,  to  ward  off  evils  that  are  imaginary  ;  and  sweat 
through  a  life  of  toil,  to  become  at  last  dependent  on 
others  for  what  they  can  do  just  as  well  themselves. 
What  is  the  use  of  plaguing  myself  with  these  eter 
nal  labours ;  I  will  be  idle  and  happy." 

"  Remember  the  poet  at  Saratoga." 

"  Remember  the  philosopher." 

"  Remember  the  politician." 

"  Remember  the  man  of  nerves,"  whispered  mem 
ory  in  my  ear,  "  and  remember  thyself —  remember 
DYSPEPSY."  I  fled  from  my  conclusion  as  fast  as  I 
could  run,  and  worked  that  day  harder  than  ever. 

Winter  came,  and  having  a  vast  forest  of  wood, 
some  of  which  was  decaying  and  the  remainder  in 
full  maturity,  I  determined  to  have  it  cut  down  and 
sold,  to  pay  my  debt  to  my  old  Scotchman.  With  the 
assistance  of  one  or  two  others,  Ahasuerus  performed 
wonders  in  the  woods,  as  he  had  done  among  the 


244  DYSPEPSY. 

rocks.  I  forget  how  many  cords  they  sent  to  market, 
but  it  produced  enough  to  pay  my  old  friend,  and 
then  I  stood  upon  the  proudest  eminence  an  unambi 
tious  man  can  attain ;  I  owed  no  man  a  penny,  and  I 
could  live  without  running  in  debt.  This  is  a  great 
and  solid  happiness,  not  sufficiently  appreciated  in 
this  age. 

People  that  know  no  better  are  apt  to  think  that 
winter  in  the  country  is  one  long  level  of  dead  uni 
formity  ;  and  that  there  is  no  enjoyment  away  from 
the  fireside.  But  they  are  widely  mistaken.  Nature 
everywhere  forever  presents  a  succession  of  varieties, 
and  those  of  winter  are  not  the  least  beautiful.  The 
short  days  of  December  and  January  are  perhaps  the 
most  gloomy ;  but  have  this  advantage,  that  they  are 
short,  and  are  followed  by  good  long  nights,  in  which 
it  is  a  luxury  to  nestle  in  a  warm  bed  and  hear  the 
wind  whistle  or  the  light  fleeces  of  snow  patting 
against  the  windows,  and  fall  asleep  thinking  how 
much  better-off  we  are  than  millions  of  our  fellow- 
creatures.  When  the  earth  lies  barren,  with  its  herb 
age  destroyed;  when  the  forests,  stripped  of  their 
leafy  honours,  stand  bare  to  the  winds;  even  then  na 
ture  is  not  altogether  desolate  in  these  lonely  moun 
tains.  The  homely  brown  of  the  woods  is  dotted 
here  and  there  by  clusters  of  evergreens,  that  appear 
only  the  more  beautiful  from  the  leanness  that  sur 
rounds  them ;  and  even  the  gravity  of  the  old  gray- 
beard  rocks  is  often  enlivened  with  spots  of  green 
moss  that  relieve  their  sober  aspect.  There  is  music 
too  in  the  wintry  solitudes :  for,  in  the  pure  clear  air, 
every  sound  is  musical.  The  lowing  of  cattle  —  the 
barking  of  the  dog  and  chattering  of  the  squirrel 


DYSPEPSY.  245 

—  the  drumming  of  the  partridge  —  the  echoes  of  the 
fowler's  gun,  and  of  the  woodman's  axe  whose  strokes 
are  by  and  by  followed  by  the  loud  crash  of  the  fall 
ing  tree  —  all  breaking  in  succession,  and  sometimes 
mingling  in  chorus,  on  the  beautiful  and  buoyant  air, 
bear  with  them  a  lonely  yet  touching  charm,  which, 
to  a  contented  mind  in  a  healthy  frame,  affords  the 
means  of  real  substantial  enjoyment. 

Anon,  Nature  puts  on  her  robe  of  spotless  white,  the 
true  livery  of  youth,  beauty,  and  innocence ;  —  and 
then,  what  an  intense,  ineffable  lustre  invests  her  all 
around,  and  everywhere !  The  impurities,  the  blem 
ishes,  and  the  deformities  of  the  earth,  are  all  hidden 
under  the  snowy  veil ;  the  roughness  becomes  smooth 
and  glassy;  the  stagnant  pools,  exhaling  in  summer 
disease  and  death,  are  robbed  of  their  poisons ;  the 
bogs  are  invisible,  and  the  very  swamps  salubrious. 
All  is  clear,  unsullied,  and  still ;  the  pale  image  of  in 
nocent  beauty,  clothed  for  a  while  in  the  trappings  of 
the  tomb.  All  is  soothing,  but  nothing  lively  :  all 
grave  and  solemn,  yet  nothing  melancholy.  But  the 
jiight_js,  if  possible,  still  more  holy  and  beautiful, 
when  the  brightness  of  the  moon-beams  sporting  on 
the  glittering  surface  of  the  snow  creates  a  sort  of  fe 
male  day,  softer,  and  more  tranquillizing,  yet  almost 
equally  bright.  Not  an  insect  chirps  or  buzzes  in  the 
ear ;  there  is  no  life  stirring  in  nature's  veins  :  her  pul 
ses  stop.  But  a  thousand  glittering  stars,  invisible  at 
other  times,  come  forth,  as  if  to  view  the  scene 
stretched  out  below  them,  or  watch  with  sparkling 
eyes  the  course  of  their  bright  queen  athwart  the 
heavens. 

Then  come  the  lengthening  days,  which  at  first 


246  DYSPEPSY. 

steal  on  imperceptibly,  with  steps  noiseless  and  slow, 
silently  unlocking  the  chains  of  winter,  and  setting 
nature  free  so  easily  that  we  do  not  hear  the  turning 
of  the  key.  At  first,  the  trickling  of  the  waters  from 
the  roof,  and  the  falling  of  the  icicles,  apprise  us  of  the 
advance  of  the  sun,  to  resume  his  glowing  sceptre. 
Anon,  the  southern  exposures  begin  to  spot  the  vast 
white  winding-sheet  with  brown ;  and,  here  and  there, 
though  very  rarely,  along  the  margin  of  some  living 
spring,  the  tender  grass  begins  to  peep  forth.  Every 
day  the  empire  of  the  sun  extends  by  slow  progression. 
The  brooks  begin  again  to  murmur  and  glisten,  mark 
ing  their  courses  by  the  increased  verdure  of  the  grass 
and  willows  on  their  margins ;  and,  by  inappreciable 
degrees,  the  few  sere  leaves  that  clung  all  winter  to 
the  sapless  branches  are  pushed  from  their  hold  by  the 
swelling  buds,  and  fall  whispering  to  the  earth,  to 
mingle  with  her  crumbling  atoms.  It  is  thus  with  all 
the  works  of  nature,  and  with  man.  The  young  buds 
push  off  the  old  dry  leaves  ;  the  very  rocks  are  muta 
ble  ;  all  feel  the  universal  law  of  change,  and  man  the 
most  of  all. 

I  did  not  spend  my  winter  idly,  but  went  out  every 
day  to  see  my  wood-cutters.  In  order  to  give  some 
interest  to  my  walks,  I  purchased  a  gun,  procured  a 
brace  of  fox-hounds,  and  in  time  became  a  mighty 
hunter  before  the  Lord.  No  man  of  sentiment  has 
ever  heard  the  "  deep-mouthed  hound,"  as  the  poet, 
with  singular  felicity,  calls  him,  saluting  the  clear 
frosty  morning  with  sonorous  and  far-sounding  chal 
lenges,  without  feeling  its  inspiration  in  the  silence 
of  the  mountains.  I  found  their  society,  and  that  of 
my  gun,  delightful,  though  truth  obliges  me  to  confess 


DYSPEPSY.  247 

that  I  seldom  got  any  thing  in  my  sporting  rambles 
but  exercise  and  a  keen  appetite.  Almost  the  first 
extensive  excursion  I  made,  being  intent  on  following 
the  hounds,  I  unluckily  fell  through  the  ice  into  a 
small  pond,  which  the  melting  of  the  first  snows  had 
formed  in  a  little  valley.  I  got  completely  wet  from 
head  to  foot ;  and  I  was  some  miles  from  home.  The 
whole  way,  I  suffered  the  horrible  anticipation  of  dis 
eases  without  number;  rheumatism,  consumption, 
catarrh,  sore  throat,  inflammation  of  the  chest,  and  a 
hundred  others.  In  short,  I  gave  myself  up  for  gone ; 
and  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  home  and  settle  my 
affairs,  that  I  arrived  there  in  a  perfect  glow.  I  lost 
no  time  in  changing  my  dress,  and,  it  being  now 
evening,  went  directly  to  bed,  expecting  next  morning 
to  find  myself  as  stiff  as  a  poker.  At  first  I  fell  into 
a  profuse  perspiration,  and  then  into  a  sound  sleep 
which  lasted  till  morning.  I  can  hardly  believe  it 
myself,  at  this  moment;  I  awoke  as  well  as  ever  I 
was  in  my  life,  and  never  felt  any  ill  effects  from  my 
accident.  After  this,  I  defied  the  whole  college  of 
physicians,  nay,  all  the  colleges  put  together.  I  con 
sidered  myself  another  Achilles,  invulnerable  even  at 
the  heel,  and  now  cared  no  more  for  the  weather  than 
a  grizzly -bear,  or  a  seeker  of  the  North- West  pas 
sage. 

Thus  passed  my  first  winter.  In  the  spring,  I  paid 
my  debt  to  Hardup  with  the  product  of  my  wood.  In 
the  summer,  he  came  to  see  me.  "  I  did  not  come  be 
fore,  for  fear  you  would  think  it  was  to  dun  you," 
said  he.  He  has  repeated  his  visit  every  summer,  for 
the  last  seven  years,  and  he  assures  me  every  time, 
that,  were  he  not  Hardup,  he  would  be  Ambler.  It 


248  DYSPEPSY. 

would  be  tedious,  neither  is  it  necessary  to  the  moral 
of  my  story,  to  detail  the  progress  I  made,  and  the 
wonders  achieved  by  Ahasuems,  from  the  period  at 
which  I  first  took  possession  of  my  estate,  to  that  in 
which  I  am  now  writing.  Great  as  are  the  changes, 
they  bear  no  comparison  with  those  /  have  under 
gone. 

My  farm  is  now  a  little  Eden  among  the  high  hills, 
whose  rugged  aspects  only  add  richness  and  beauty  to 
the  cultivated  fields.  I  have  saved  enough  to  add 
two  wings  to  my  old  house,  and  to  put  it  in  good  re 
pair,  besides  building  a  barn  and  other  out-houses. 
Every  year  I  execute  some  little  improvements,  just 
to  keep  up  the  excitement  of  novelty,  and  prevent  me 
from  thinking  too  much  about  myself.  Every  fair 
day  in  spring,  summer,  and  autumn,  it  is  my  custom 
to  climb  a  part  of  the  mountain  which  overlooks  my 
little  domain  and  affords  a  full  view  of  its  green  or 
golden  enclosures. 

It  lies  at  the  head  of  a  long  narrow  vale,  skirted  on 
either  side  by  rough,  rocky,  steep  mountains,  clothed 
with  vast  forests  of  every  growth.  My  house  is  on  a 
little  round  knoll,  just  on  the  edge  of  the  meadow,  so 
rough  at  my  first  arrival  here,  but  which  now  has  not 
a  single  stone  above  its  surface.  The  clear  spring- 
brook  which  meanders  through  it,  and  is  full  of  trout, 
forms  the  head  of  a  fine  stream,  which,  (gathering  the 
tribute  of  the  hills  as  it  proceeds  onward),  waxes 
larger  as  it  goes,  and  appears  at  different  points  far 
down  the  valley,  coursing  its  bright  way  to  the  Hud 
son.  On  either  side  of  the  valley,  among  rocks  and 
woods,  is  sometimes  seen  a  cultivated  field  or  two, 
with  a  house,  and  a  few  cattle ;  but,  with  this  excep- 


DYSPEPSY.  249 

tion,  there  is  a  perfect  and  beautiful  contrast  between 
the  bosom  and  the  sides  of  the  valley.  The  former 
is  all  softness,  verdure,  and  fertility;  the  latter  are 
stately  with  forests,  or  severe  in  naked  sublimity.  In 
a  day  made  brilliant  by  a  north-west  wind  I  can  see 
the  junction  of  the  little  river,  (of  which,  as  being  the 
proprietor  of  its  parent  spring,  I  consider  myself  the 
father),  with  the  majestic  Hudson.  I  wish  the  reader, 
that  is,  if  he  is  a  clever  man,  or,  what  is  still  better,  a 
clever  and  pretty  lady,  would  come  and  see  my  farm 
next  summer. 

I  have  paid  but  one  visit  to  the  city,  and  that  was 
to  my  old  friend  Hardup,  who  is  become  very  fond 
of  me  ever  since  he  conferred  a  benefit.  While  I 
was  one  day  strolling  along  the  Battery,  I  exchanged 
one  of  those  glances  which  bespeak  a  doubtful  rec 
ognition,  with  a  portly,  rosy-cheeked  man  I  was  sure 
I  had  once  known.  On  these  occasions  I  generally 
make  the  advance. 

"  I  think  I  have  seen  you  before,  sir,"  said  I,  "  but 
really  I  can't  tell  exactly  where." 

"  I  am  in  the  same  predicament,"  replied  he,  smil 
ing  ;  "  your  face  is  familiar,  though  I  can't  recall  your 
name." 

"  My  name  is  Ambler." 

"  Good  heavens !  is  it  possible  — "  and,  though 
glad  to  see  me,  he  seemed  quite  astonished ;  — "  my 
name  is  Abstract."  I  almost  fell  backwards  over  one 
of  the  benches.  It  was  my  friend,  the  man  of  nerves, 
as  hale  and  hearty  as  if  he  had  never  had  any  nerves 
in  his  life. 

"  I'll  not  believe  it,"  said  I ;  "  why,  what  has  hap 
pened  to  you  ?  " 


250  DYSPEPSY. 

"  O,  I'm  married,"  he  replied,  "  and  have  enough  to 
do  besides  attending  to  my  nerves;  but  you — you 
are  metamorphosed  too  —  what  has  come  over  you  ? 
Are  you,  too,  married  ?  " 

"  No ;  I'm  a  bachelor  still,"  said  I :  "so  you  see 
there  are  two  opposite  ways  to  the  same  thing." 

Having  exchanged  our  addresses,  we  parted,  the 
best  friends  in  the  world. 

"  You  had  better  get  a  wife,"  cried  he. 

"  I  mean  to,"  I  replied,  "  as  soon  as  I  can  afford  the 
revenues  of  a  city,  to  keep  her  in  pin-money." 

"  Pooh !,  if  you  can't  keep  her  in  pin-money,  you 
can  keep  her  in  order,"  answered  he  of  the  nerves,  and 
strutted  away,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  was  either 
master  at  home,  or  so  dexterously  led  captive  as  not 
to  suspect  it. 

I  begin  to  grow  weary  of  talking  about  myself; 
and,  as  I  have  observed  that  listeners  and  readers 
generally  get  tired  before  speakers  and  authors,  will 
here  conclude  my  story.  Its  moral,  I  hope,  cannot  be 
mistaken.  I  committed  to  paper  the  result  of  my 
experience,  not  for  the  purpose  of  laughing  at  the 
miseries  of  human  life,  or  of  ridiculing  the  infirmities 
of  my  fellow-creatures.  I  wished,  if  possible,  to  per 
suade  them  that  a  large  portion  of  the  cares  of  this 
world,  from  which  we  are  so  anxious  to  escape,  are 
nothing  more  than  blessings  in  disguise,  and  thus  to 
diminish  that  inordinate  love  of  riches  which  is 
founded  on  the  silly  presumption  that  they  are  the 
sources  of  all  happiness.  It  is  under  the  dominion 
of  this  mistaken  idea  that  money  becomes  indeed  the 
root  of  all  evil,  by  being  sought  with  an  insatiable 
appetite,  that  swallows  up  all  our  feelings  of  brother- 


DYSPEPSY.  251 

hood,  and  causes  men  to  prey  upon  each  other  like 
the  wild  beasts  of  the  forest ;  nay,  more  savagely  — 
for  their  instinct  teaches  them  to  spare  their  own 
species.  Were  mankind  aware  of  the  total  inability 
of  wealth  to  confer  content  or  to  make  leisure  delight 
ful,  they  would  perchance  seek  it  with  less  avidity, 
and  with  fewer  sacrifices  of  that  integrity  which  is  a 
far  more  essential  ingredient  in  human  happiness 
than  the  gold  for  which  it  is  so  often  bartered.  My 
history  may  also  afford  a  useful  example  to  those 
whose  situations  entail  on  them  the  necessity  of  la 
bour  and  economy,  by  teaching  them  the  impossibility 
of  reconciling  a  life  of  luxury  and  ease  with  the  en 
joyment  of  jocund  spirits,  lusty  health,  and  rational 
happiness. 

"But  what  has  become  of  your  DYSPEPSY  all 
this  time  ?  "  the  reader  will  ask. 

Faith !,  I  had  forgot  that  entirely ! 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  THE  AGE. 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  THE  AGE. 


SQUIRE  VAN  GAASBEECK  (which  means  Goosebill 
in  English)  was  for  fifty  good  years  snugly  settled  on 
the  spot  of  his  birth,  happy  in  himself,  happy  in  his 
family,  and  happy  in  the  possession  of  three  hundred 
acres  of  the  best  land  in  Greene  county.  His  family 
consisted  of  a  wife,  a  son,  and  two  daughters  —  the 
latter  of  a  ripe,  marriageable  age  —  Catharine  and 
Rachel,  called,  in  the  familiar  Dutch  vernacular,  Teenie 
and  Lockie.  The  name  of  the  boy,  as  they  called  him, 
for  he  was  but  thirty,  was  Yaup,  which  signifies  Jacob 
in  English. 

The  daughters  spun  and  wove  the  linsey-woolsey 
and  linen ;  the  mother,  with  their  help,  made  them  up 
into  garments  for  the  squire  and  Yaup,  who  worked 
in  the  fields  sometimes  a  whole  day,  with  Primus  the 
black  boy,  without  exchanging  a  single  word.  Every 
year  Squire  Van  Gaasbeeck  added  a  few  hundreds  to 
his  store ;  every  year  the  governor  sent  him  a  com 
mission  as  justice  of  the  peace ;  and  every  year  the 
daughters  added  to  their  reserve  of  linen  and  petti 
coats,  deposited  in  the  great  oaken  chest  with  a  spring- 
lock,  for  the  happy  period  to  which  every  good  honest 


256  THE   PROGRESS   OF   THE   AGE. 

girl  looks  forward,  with  gentle  trepidation,  mixed  with 
inspiring  hopes.  There  seemed  to  be  no  end  to  these 
accumulations,  insomuch  that,  it  is  said,  at  one  time, 
Teenie  and  Lockie  could  each  muster  six  dozen  pairs 
of  sheets,  threescore  towels,  a  hundred  petticoats,  be 
sides  other  articles  which  shall  be  nameless  —  that 
Yaup  counted  shirts  innumerable  —  and  the  squire 
himself  actually  owned  seventy-six  pairs  of  breeches, 
good,  bad,  and  indifferent,  a  number  which  he  declared 
he  never  would  exceed,  he  being  an  old  seventy-sixer 
to  the  backbone. 

Thus  the  old  squire's  bark  floated  swimmingly  to 
wards  the  dark  gulf  that  finally  swallows  up  man,  his 
motives,  his  actions,  and  his  memory,  when,  in  an  evil 
hour,  a  manufactory  of  woollens  was  established  in 
his  neighbourhood  for  the  encouragement  of  "  domes 
tic  industry." 

There  carding,  and  spinning,  and  weaving,  were  all 
carried  on  by  that  arch  fiend,  "  productive  labour." 
Hereupon  all  the  women  in  twenty  miles  round  threw 
down  the  distaff,  the  wool-cards,  and  the  shuttle,  main 
taining  that  it  was  much  better  to  leave  these  matters 
to  "domestic  industry"  and  "productive  labour,"  than 
to  be  working  and  slaving  from  morning  till  night  at 
home. 

"  Hum,"  quoth  Squire  Van  Gaasbeeck,  "  this  same 
domestic  industry  and  productive  labour  is  what  I 
can't  understand ;  it  bids  fair  to  put  an  end  to  the 
domestic  industry  and  productive  labour  of  my  family, 
I  think." 

A  great  political  economist  gave  him  copies  of  all 
the  speeches  made  in  Congress  on  the  subject,  amount 
ing  to  a  hundred  thousand  pages,  which  he  assured 


THE   PROGRESS   OF   THE   AGE.  257 

him  would  explain  the  manner  in  which  domestic 
industry  and  domestic  idleness  could  be  proved  to  be 
twin-sisters.  The  squire  put  on  his  spectacles,  and 
began  to  read  like  any  egregious  owl ;  but  before  he 
got  half  through  he  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed  of  the 
tower  of  Babel  and  confusion  of  tongues.  He  re 
turned  the  books,  and  the  economist  as  good  as  told 
him  he  was  a  great  blockhead.  "  It  may  be,"  quoth 
the  squire ;  "  but  not  all  the  speeches  in  the  world 
will  persuade  me  that  the  way  to  encourage  domestic 
industry  is  to  have  all  the  work  done  abroad." 

Some  say,  money  is  the  root  of  all  evil.  Of  this  I 
profess  myself  ignorant,  having  never  yet  had  enough 
to  do  me  much  harm.  Others  affirm  that  idleness  is 
the  genuine  root,  and  1  believe  they  are  right.  From 
the  moment  the  squire's  wife  and  daughters  began  to 
be  idle  at  home,  they  began  to  hanker  after  a  hundred 
out-door  amusements  which  they  never  thought  of 
before.  They  must  go  down  to  Catskill,  forsooth,  to 
buy  ribbons,  and  calicoes,  and  cotton  stockings,  and 
what  not.  In  short,  they  never  wanted  an  excuse  for 
gadding,  and  at  last  reached  the  climax  of  enormity 
in  actually  beginning  to  talk  seriously  of  a  voyage  to 
New  York.  The  squire's  hair  stood  on  end ;  for,  at 
that  happy  period,  a  voyage  to  New  York  was  never 
contemplated  except  on  occasions  of  life  and  death. 
The  city  was  talked  of  as  a  place  afar  off,  accessible 
only  to  a  chosen  few ;  and  the  fortunate  being  who 
had  visited  it  acquired  an  importance  equal  to  that 
of  a  Mussulman  who  has  made  the  pilgrimage  to 
Mecca.  He  might  lawfully  assume  the  traveller's 
privilege  of  telling  as  many  lies  as  he  pleases. 

"  This  comes  of  domestic  industry  and  productive 
17 


258  THE   PROGRESS   OF   THE   AGE. 

labour,"  quoth  the  squire,  who  was  still  the  better 
horse  at  home,  and  put  a  flat  negative  on  the  project, 
for  which  he  got  a  good  many  sour  looks.  But  his 
misfortunes  were  not  to  end  here.  About  this  time, 
one  of  those  diabolical  inventions  which  set  all  the 
world  gadding  appeared  in  the  shape  of  a  steamboat, 
smoking  and  puffing  her  way  up  to  Albany.  In  a 
little  while  she  was  followed  by  others,  so  that  at 
length  it  came  to  pass  that  people  could  go  from 
Catskill  to  New  York  and  back  again  in  less  than  no 
time,  for  nothing.  About  three  score  and  ten  of  the 
squire's  cousins  to  the  sixth  degree,  taking  advantage 
of  these  facilities,  came  up  from  New  York  to  see  him, 
and  some  half  a  dozen  staid  all  summer.  Now  the 
least  they  could  do  was  to  ask  the  squire's  wife  and 
daughters  to  visit  them  in  the  autumn  in  return.  The 
squire  was  assailed  so  resolutely  for  his  permission  to 
accept  this  polite  offer,  that  at  last  his  obstinacy  gave 
way,  like  a  mill-dam  in  a  great  freshet,  and  carried 
everything  before  it.  Madam  Van  Gaasbeeck  and 
Teenie  and  Lockie  packed  up  all  their  petticoats,  and 
getting  on  board  of  the  steamboat  at  the  risk  of  their 
necks,  under  the  protection  of  the  young  Squire  Yaup, 
paddled  down  to  New  York  as  merry  as  fiddlers. 

At  the  same  time  the  squire,  in  imitation  I  believe 
of  Marc  Antony,  or  somebody  else  that  he  never  heard 
of,  almost  loaded  one  of  the  Catskill  sloops  with  pigs, 
potatoes,  and  other  market-stuff,  the  whole  product 
of  which  was  to  be  turned  over  to  the  ladies  for  pin- 
money.  To  the  young  squire  he  confided  a  more  im 
portant  business.  He  had  just  closed  a  bargain  with 
a  merchant  in  New  York,  who  had  inherited  some 
land  in  his  neighborhood,  for  a  fine  farm,  on  which 


THE   PROGRESS   OF   THE   AGE.  259 

he  intended  to  settle  Taup  when  he  got  married;  and 
now  intrusted  him  with  three  thousand  dollars  to  pay 
for  it,  agreeably  to  contract.  Squire  Van  Gaasbeeck 
was  not  a  man  to  owe  a  shilling  longer  than  he  could 
help  it. 

The  party  arrived  in  New  York  without  any  acci 
dent,  the  steamboat  not  blowing  up,  that  trip,  and 
were  received  by  the  cousins  and  second-cousins  as 
if  they  were  quite  welcome.  But,  terrible  was  the 
work  the  city  kindred  made  with  the  costume  of  Ma 
dam  Van  Gaasbeeck  and  the  young  ladies.  It  was 
all  condemned,  like  a  parcel  of  slops  eaten  up  by 
cockroaches,  and  the  produce  of  the  pigs,  potatoes, 
and  pumpkins,  melted  irretrievably  in  one  single  ex 
cursion  into  Cheapside.  For  the  town  cousins  would 
by  no  means  be  seen  in  Broadway  with  the  country 
cousins,  and  accordingly  took  them  up  to  Cheapside 
in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  where  the  shopkeeper, 
making  advantage  of  the  obscurity,  cheated  them 
finely. 

Being  equipped  in  grand  costume,  they  were  taken 
to  the  play  —  it  was  Peter  Wilkins  —  where  the  old 
lady  declared  that  "  it  was  all  one  as  ^  puppet  show," 
and  came  very  near  fainting  under  the  infliction  of  a 
pair  of  corsets,  with  which  the  cruel  relatives  had  in 
vested  her. 

The  young  squire,  feeling  the  importance  of  having 
money  in  his  pocket,  had  delayed  to  pay  over  the 
three  thousand  dollars,  and  carried  it  with  him  to 
the  play,  in  a  leather  pocket-book.  Impressed  with  the 
weight  of  his  charge,  he  was  continually  putting  his 
hand  behind  him  to  feel  that  all  was  safe,  insomuch 
that  he  caught  the  attention  of  a  worthy  gentleman 


260  THE   PROGRESS   OF   THE   AGE. 

who  was  prowling  about  seeking  whom  he  might 
devour.  He  attached  himself  to  Master  Yaup  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening,  and,  in  the  crowd  of  the  lobby, 
going  out,  took  occasion  to  ease  him  of  the  black 
leather  pocket-book,  without  his  being  the  wiser  for  it 
till  he  got  home.  It  was  never  recovered,  notwith 
standing  all  the  exertions  of  that  terror  of  evil-doers, 
High-Constable  Hays.* 

This  is  one  of  the  great  conveniences  of  paper 
money  —  a  man  may  put  a  fortune  in  his  pocket. 
Had  the  three  thousand  dollars  been  in  specie,  Yaup 
could  not  have  carried  them  to  the  play. 

Here  was  a  farm  gone  at  one  blow.  But  this  was 
not  the  worst.  The  good  wife  and  daughters  came 
home  with  loads  of  finery,  and  loads  of  wants  they 
never  knew  before.  There  was  the  deuse  to  pay  on 
the  first  Sunday  morning  after  their  return  from  town. 
The  church  would  hardly  hold  their  bonnets,  and  the 
parson  was  struck  dumb,  insomuch  that  he  gave  out 
the  wrong  psalm,  which  the  clerk  set  to  a  wrong  tune. 
Mercy  upon  us,  what  heart-burnings  were  here!  Not 
one  of  the  congregation  could  tell  where  the  text  was 
when  arrived  at  home. 

Squire  Van  Gaasbeeck  had  now  a  farm  to  pay  for, 
and  wanted  every  penny  he  could  scrape  together,  to 
make  both  ends  meet.  But  the  shopping  to  Catskill 
went  on  worse  than  ever;  and,  besides  this,  almost 
every  week  the  sloop  brought  up  some  article  of  fin 
ery  from  New  York,  which  the  city  cousins  assured 
them  had  just  come  into  fashion.  In  short,  the  squire 
now,  for  the  first  time,  felt  his  spirit  bowed  down  to 

*  Jacob,  familiarly  known  in  New  York  for  many  years  as  "Old, 
Hays."- 


THE   PROGRESS    OF   THE   AGE.  261 

the  earth,  under  the  consciousness  that  he  owed 
money  which  he  could  not  pay. 

In  the  progress  of  the  spirit  of  the  age  and  the 
march  of  mind,  it  came  to  pass  that  certain  public- 
spirited  people  procured  a  charter,  and  set  up  a  bank 
at  Catskill  for  the  good  of  mankind.  The  squire,  in 
due  time,  was  set  upon  by  one  of  the  directors,  who 
smelled  out  that  he  wanted  money,  and  persuaded 
him  to  take  up  a  couple  of  thousands  of  the  bank, 
with  the  aid  of  which  he  could  make  such  improve 
ments  on  his  new  purchase  as  would  enable  him  to 
sell  it  for  twice  as  much  as  it  cost.  The  squire  was 
not  the  man  he  once  was.  His  sturdy,  independent 
spirit,  that  scorned  the  idea  of  a  debt,  was  broken 
down.  He  borrowed  the  money,  improved  the  farm, 
and  finally  sold  it  to  this  very  honest  director,  at  a 
great  profit.  The  director  paid  him  in  notes  of  the 
new  bank,  and  that  same  morning  conveyed  the  farm 
to  somebody  else.  Squire  Van  Gaasbeeck  was  now 
rich  again.  He  determined  to  go  the  next  day  and 
pay  all  his  debts,  and  be  a  man  once  more. 

But,  unluckily,  that  very  night  the  bank,  and  all 
things  therein,  evaporated.  The  house  was  found 
shut  up  next  morning.  All  the  books,  papers,  notes, 
and  directors,  had  gone  no  one  knew  whither ;  al 
though  it  was  the  general  opinion  the  devil  had 
possession  of  the  directors.  This  loss  half  ruined 
Squire  Van  Gaasbeeck,  and  Taup  gave  the  finishing 
blow,  by  striking  work,  and  swearing  he  would  no 
longer  battle  with  "  the  spirit  of  the  age  and  the 
march  of  public  improvement,"  which  decreed  he 
should  be  a  gentleman.  Finally,  to  make  an  end  of 
my  story,  the  squire  was  turned  out  of  his  farm  by  his 


262  THE   PROGRESS   OF   THE   AGE. 

creditors  —  his  wife  died  of  her  corsets — the  young 
ladies  were  fain  to  tend  the  spinning-jenny  at  the 
neighbouring  manufactory  —  and  Master  Yaap  be 
came  a  gentleman  at  large,  left  the  home  of  his  an 
cestors,  and  was  never  heard  of  more. 

An  old  acquaintance  one  day  came  to  see  the 
squire,  now  living  on  the  charity  of  his  brother-in-law, 
and  inquired  how  he  came  to  be  in  such  a  state. 
"  Ah  ! "  replied  he,  with  a  sigh,  "  I  was  half-ruined  by 
domestic  industry  and  productive  labour ;  but  the 
progress  of  the  age  and  the  march  of  public  improve 
ment  finished  me  at  last." 


THE 

REYENGE  OF   SAINT  NICHOLAS. 

A  TALE  FOK  THE  HOLIDAYS. 


m 


,T, 


THE 

EEVEJSTGE   OF  SAINT  NICHOLAS. 


A   TALE   FOR   THE    HOLIDAYS. 


EVERYBODY  knows  that,  in  the  famous  city  of  New 
York,  whose  proper  name  is  Nieuw  Amsterdam,  the 
excellent  St.  Nicholas  —  (who  is  worth  a  dozen  St. 
Georges,  with  dragons  to  boot,  and  who,  if  every  tub 
stood  on  its  right  bottom,  would  be  at  the  head  of  the 
Seven  Champions  of  Christendom)  —  I  say,  every 
body  knows  that  the  excellent  St.  Nicholas,  in  holiday 
times,  goes  about  among  the  people  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  distributing  all  sorts  of  toothsome  and  be 
coming  gifts  to  the  good  boys  and  girls  in  this  his 
favourite  city.  Some  say  that  he  comes  down  the 
chimneys  in  a  little  Jersey  wagon ;  others,  that  he 
wears  a  pair  of  Holland  skates,  with  which  he  travels 
like  the  wind ;  and  others,  who  pretend  to  have  seen 
him,  maintain  that  he  has  lately  adopted  a  locomo 
tive,  and  was  once  actually  detected  on  the  Albany 
railroad.  But  this  last  assertion  is  looked  upon  to  be 
entirely  fabulous,  because  St.  Nicholas  has  too  much 
discretion  to  trust  himself  in  such  a  newfangled  jar- 
vie  ;  and  so  I  leave  this  matter  to  be  settled  by  whom 
soever  will  take  the  trouble.  My  own  opinion  is,  that 


266  THE   REVENGE   OF   SAINT  NICHOLAS. 

his  favourite  mode  of  travelling  is  on  a  canal,  the 
motion  and  speed  of  which  aptly  comport  with  the 
philosophic  dignity  of  his  character.  But  this  is  not 
material,  and  I  will  no  longer  detain  my  readers  with 
extraneous  and  irrelevant  matters,  as  is  too  much  the 
fashion  with  our  statesmen,  orators,  biographers,  and 
story-tellers. 

It  was  in  the  year  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
sixty,  or  sixty-one,  for  the  most  orthodox  chronicles 
differ  in  this  respect ;  but  it  was  a  very  remarkable 
year,  and  it  was  called  annus  mirabilis  on  that  ac 
count.  It  was  said  that  several  people  were  detected 
in  speaking  the  truth,  about  that  time  ;  that  nine  staid, 
sober,  and  discreet  widows,  who  had  sworn  on  an 
anti-masonic  almanac  never  to  enter  a  second  time 
into  the  holy  state,  were  snapped  up  by  young  hus 
bands  before  they  knew  what  they  were  about ;  that 
six  venerable  bachelors  wedded  as  many  buxom  young 
belles,  and,  it  is  reported,  were  afterward  sorry  for 
what  they  had  done;  that  many  people  actually  went 
to  church  from  motives  of  piety ;  and  that  a  great 
scholar,  who  had  written  a  book  in  support  of  certain 
opinions,  was  not  only  convinced  of  his  error,  but  ac 
knowledged  it  publicly  afterwards.  No  wonder  the 
year  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  sixty,  if  that 
was  the  year,  was  called  annus  mirabilis! 

What  contributed  to  render  this  year  still  more 
remarkable  was  the  building  of  six  new  three-story 
brick  houses  in  the  city,  and  the  fact  of  three  persons' 
setting  up  equipages,  who,  I  cannot  find,  ever  failed 
in  business  afterwards,  or  compounded  with  their 
creditors  at  a  pistareen  in  the  pound.  It  is,  moreover, 
recorded  in  the  annals  of  the  horticultural  society  of 


THE   REVENGE   OF   SAINT  NICHOLAS.  267 

that  day,  (which  it  is  said  were  written  on  a  cabbage 
leaf),  that  a  member  produced  a  forked  radish,  of  such 
vast  dimensions,  that,  being  dressed  up  in  fashionable 
male  attire  at  the  exhibition,  it  was  actually  mistaken 
for  a  travelled  beau  by  several  inexperienced  young 
ladies,  who  pined  away  for  love  of  its  beautiful 
complexion,  and  were  changed  into  daffadowndillies. 
Some  maintained  it  was  a  mandrake,  but  it  was  finally 
detected  by  an  inquest  of  experienced  matrons.  No 
wonder  the  year  seventeen  hundred  and  sixty  was 
called  annus  mirabilis ! 

But  the  most  extraordinary  thing  of  all  was  the 
confident  assertion  that  there  was  but  one  gray  mare 
within  the  bills  of  mortality  ;  and,  incredible  as  it  may 
appear,  she  was  the  wife  of  a  responsible  citizen,  who, 
it  was  affirmed,  had  grown  rich  by  weaving  velvet 
purses  out  of  sows'  ears.  But  this  we  look  upon  as 
being  somewhat  of  the  character  of  the  predictions 
of  almanac-makers.  Certain  it  is,  however,  that 
Amos  Shuttle  possessed  the  treasure  of  a  wife  who  was 
shrewdly  suspected  of  having  established  within  doors 
a  system  of  government  not  laid  down  in  Aristotle  or 
the  Abbe  Sieyes,  who  made  a  constitution  for  every 
day  in  the  year,  and  two  for  the  first  of  April. 

Amos  Shuttle,  though  a  mighty  pompous  little 
man  out  of  doors,  was  the  humblest  of  human  crea 
tures  within.  He  belonged  to  that  class  of  people 
who  pass  for  great  among  the  little,  and  little  among 
the  great ;  and  he  would  certainly  have  been  master 
in  his  own  house,  had  it  not  been  for  a  woman.  We 
have  read  somewhere  that  no  wise  woman  ever  thinks 
her  husband  a  demi-god.  If  so,  it  is  a  blessing  that 
there  are  so  few  wise  women  in  the  world. 


268  THE   REVENGE    OF    SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

Amos  had  grown  rich,  Heaven  knows  how  —  he 
did  not  know  himself;  but,  what  was  somewhat  ex 
traordinary,  he  considered  his  wealth  a  signal  proof  of 
his  talents  and  sagacity,  and  valued  himself  accord 
ing  to  the  infallible  standard  of  pounds,  shillings,  and 
pence.  But,  though  he  lorded  it  without,  he  was,  as 
we  have  just  said,  the  most  gentle  of  men  within 
doors.  The  moment  he  stepped  inside  of  his  own 
house,  his  spirit  cowered  down,  like  that  of  a  pious 
man  entering  a  church ;  he  felt  as  if  he  was  in  the 
presence  of  a  superior  being  —  to  wit,  Mrs.  Abigail 
Shuttle.  He  was,  indeed,  the  meekest  of  mortals  at 
home,  except  Moses ;  and  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek's 
song,  which  Sir  Toby  Belch  declared  "  would  draw 
nine  souls  out  of  one  weaver,"  would  have  failed  in 
drawing  half  a  one  out  of  Amos.  The  truth  is,  his 
wife,  who  ought  to  have  known,  affirmed  he  had  no 
more  soul  than  a  monkey ;  but  he  was  the  only  man 
in  the  city  thus  circumstanced  at  the  time  we  speak 
of.  No  wonder,  therefore,  the  year  one  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  sixty  was  called  annus  mirabilis ! 

Such  as  he  was,  Mr.  Amos  Shuttle  waxed  richer 
and  richer  every  day,  insomuch  that  those  who  en 
vied  his  prosperity  were  wont  to  say,  "  that  he  had 
certainly  been  born  with  a  dozen  silver  spoons  in  his 
mouth,  or  such  a  great  blockhead  would  never  have  got 
together  such  a  heap  of  money."  When  he  had  be 
come  worth  ten  thousand  pounds,  he  launched  his 
shuttle  magnanimously  out  of  the  window,  ordered 
his  weaver's  beam  to  be  split  up  for  oven-wood,  and 
Mrs.  Amos  turned  his  weaver's  shop  into  a  boudoir. 
Fortune  followed  him  faster  than  he  ran  away  from 
her.  In  a  few  years  the  ten  thousand  doubled,  and 


THE   REVENGE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  269 

in  a  few  more  trebled,  quadrupled  —  in  short,  Amos 
could  hardly  count  his  money. 

"  What  shall  we  do  now,  my  dear  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Shuttle,  who  never  sought  his  opinion,  that  I  can 
learn,  except  for  the  pleasure  of  contradicting  him. 

"  Let  us  go  and  live  in  the  country,  and  enjoy  our 
selves,"  quoth  Amos. 

"  Go  into  the  country !  go  to  — "  I  could  never 
satisfy  myself  what  Mrs.  Shuttle  meant;  but  she 
stopped  short,  and  concluded  the  sentence  with  a 
withering  look  of  scorn,  that  would  have  cowed  the 
spirits  of  nineteen  weavers. 

Amos  named  all  sorts  of  places,  enumerated  all 
sorts  of  modes  of  life  he  could  think  of,  and  every 
pleasure  that  might  enter  into  the  imagination  of  a 
man  without  a  soul.  His  wife  despised  them  all ;  she 
would  not  hear  of  them. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  suppose  you  suggest  something ;  do 
now,  Abby,"  at  length  said  Amos,  in  a  coaxing  whis 
per  ;  "  will  you,  my  onydoney  ?  " 

"  Ony  fiddlestick !  I  wonder  you  repeat  such  vul 
garisms.  But  if  I  must  say  what  I  should  like,  I 
should  like  to  travel." 

"  Well,  let  us  go  and  make  a  tour  as  far  as  Jamaica, 
or  Hackensack,  or  Spiking-devil.  There  is  excellent 
fishing  for  striped-bass  there." 

"  Spiking-devil!  ",  screamed  Mrs.  Shuttle ;  "  aVt  you 
ashamed  to  swear  so,  you  wicked  mortal !  I  won't  go 
to  Jamaica,  nor  to  Hackensack  among  the  Dutch 
Hottentots,  nor  to  Spiking-devil  to  catch  striped-bass. 
I'll  go  to  Europe ! " 

If  Amos  had  possessed  a  soul,  it  would  have  jumped 
out  of  its  skin  at  the  idea  of  going  beyond  seas.  He 


270  THE   REVENGE   OF   SAINT  NICHOLAS. 

had  once  been  on  the  sea-bass  banks,  and  got  a  sea 
soning  there ;  the  very  thought  of  which  made  him 
sick.  But,  as  he  had  no  soul,  there  was  no  great 
harm  done. 

When  Mrs.  Shuttle  said  a  thing,  it  was  settled. 
They  went  to  Europe,  taking  their  only  son  with 
them.  The  lady  ransacked  all  the  milliners'  shops  in 
Paris,  and  the  gentleman  visited  all  the  restaurateurs. 
He  became  such  a  desperate  connoisseur  and  gour 
mand,  that  he  could  almost  tell  an  omelette  aujambon 
from  a  gammon  of  bacon.  After  consummating  the 
polish,  they  came  home,  the  lady  with  the  newest  old 
fashions,  and  the  weaver  with  a  confirmed  preference 
of  potage  a  la  Tarque  over  pepperpot.  It  is  said  the 
city  trembled,  as  with  an  earthquake,  when  they  land 
ed  ;  but  the  notion  was  probably  superstitious. 

They  arrived  near  the  close  of  the  year,  the  mem 
orable  year,  the  annus  mirabilis,  one  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  sixty.  Everybody  that  had  ever  known 
the  Shuttles  flocked  to  see  them,  or  rather  to  see  what 
they  had  brought  with  them  ;  and  such  was  the  magic 
of  a  voyage  to  Europe,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Amos 
Shuttle,  who  had  been  nobodies  when  they  departed, 
became  somebodies  when  they  returned,  and  mounted 
at  once  to  the  summit  of  ton. 

"  You  have  come  in  good  time  to  enjoy  the  festivi 
ties  of  the  holidays,"  said  Mrs.  Hubblebubble,  an  old 
friend  of  Amos  the  weaver  and  his  wife. 

"  We  shall  have  a  merry  Christmas  and  a  happy 
New-year,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Doubletrouble,  another  old 
acquaintance  of  old  times. 

"  The  holidays  ?  "  drawled  Mrs.  Shuttle  ;  "  the  holi 
days?  Christmas  and  New-year?  Pray,  what  are 
they?" 


THE   REVENGE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  271 

It  is  astonishing  to  see  how  people  lose  their  memo 
ries  abroad,  sometimes.  They  often  forget  their  old 
friends  and  old  customs  ;  and,  occasionally,  themselves. 

"  Why,  la !  now,  who'd  have  thought  it  ? "  cried 
Mrs.  Doubletrouble;  "why,  sure  you  haven't  forgot 
the  oly  koeks  and  the  mince-pies,  the  merry  meetings 
of  friends,  the  sleigh-rides,  the  Kissing-Bridge,  and  the 
family  parties  ?  " 

"  Family  parties ! "  shrieked  Mrs.  Shuttle,  and  held 
her  salts  to  her  nose  ;  "  family  parties  !  I  never  heard 
of  anything  so  Gothic  in  Paris  or  Rome ;  and  oly 
koeks  —  Oh  shocking!  and  mince-pies  —  detestable! 
and  throwing  open  one's  doors  to  all  one's  old  friends, 
whom  one  wishes  to  forget  as  soon  as  possible  —  Oh! 
the  idea  is  insupportable!  "  And  again  she  held  the 
salts  to  her  nose. 

Mrs.  Hubblebubble  and  Mrs.  Doubletrouble  found 
they  had  exposed  themselves  sadly,  and  were  quite 
ashamed.  A  real,  genteel,  well-bred,  enlightened  lady 
of  fashion  ought  to  have  no  rule  of  conduct,  no  con 
science,  but  Paris  —  whatever  is  fashionable  there  is 
genteel  —  whatever  is  not  fashionable  is  vulgar.  There 
is  no  other  standard  of  right,  and  no  other  eternal  fit 
ness  of  things.  At  least  so  thought  Mrs.  Hubblebub 
ble  and  Mrs.  Doubletrouble. 

"But  is  it  possible  that  all  these  things  are  out  of 
fashion,  abroad  ?  ",  asked  the  latter,  beseechingly. 

"  They  never  were  in,"  said  Mrs.  Amos  Shuttle. 
•'  For  my  part,  I  mean  to  close  my  doors  and  windows 
on  New-year's  day  —  I'm  determined." 

"  And  so  am  I,"  said  Mrs.  Hubblebubble. 

"  And  so  am  I,"  said  Mrs.  Doubletrouble. 

And  it  was  settled  that  thev  should  make  a  com- 


272  THE   EEYENGE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

bination  among  themselves  and  their  friends,  to  put 
down  the  ancient  and  good  customs  of  the  city,  and 
abolish  the  sports  and  enjoyments  of  the  jolly  New- 
year.  The  conspirators  then  separated,  each  to  pursue 
her  diabolical  designs  against  oly  koeks,  mince-pies, 
sleigh-ridings,  sociable  visitings,  and  family  parties. 

Now  the  excellent  St.  Nicholas,  who  knows  well 
what  is  going  on  in  every  house  in  the  city,  though, 
like  a  good  and  honourable  saint,  he  never  betrays 
any  family  secrets,  overheard  these  wicked  women 
plotting  against  his  favourite  anniversary,  and  he  said 
to  himself, 

"  Vuur  en  Vlammenl*  but  I'll  be  even  with  you, 
mein  vrouwen"  So  he  determined  he  would  play 
these  conceited  and  misled  women  a  trick  or  two  be 
fore  he  had  done  with  them. 

It  was  now  the  first  day  of  the  new  year,  and  Mrs. 
Amos  Shuttle,  and  Mrs.  Doubletrouble,  and  Mrs.  Hub- 
blebubble,  and  all  their  wicked  accomplices,  had  shut 
up  their  doors  and  windows,  so  that  when  their  old 
friends  called  they  could  not  get  into  their  houses. 
Moreover,  they  had  prepared  neither  mince-pies,  nor 
oly  koeks,  nor  krullers,  nor  any  of  the  good  things 
consecrated  to  St.  Nicholas  by  his  pious  and  well-in 
tentioned  votaries ;  and  they  were  mightily  pleased  at 
having  been  as  dull  and  stupid  as  owls,  while  all  the 
rest  of  the  folks  were  as  merry  as  crickets,  chirping  and 
frisking  in  the  warm  chimney-corner.  Little  did  they 
think  what  horrible  judgments  were  impending  over 
them,  prepared  by  the  wrath  of  the  excellent  St. 
Nicholas,  who  was  resolved  to  make  an  example  of 
them  for  attempting  to  introduce  their  newfangled 

*  Fire  and  flames. 


THE   REVENGE    OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  273 

corruptions  in  place  of  the  ancient  customs  of  his 
favourite  city.  These  wicked  women  never  had 
another  comfortable  sleep  in  their  lives  ! 

The  night  was  still,  clear,  and  frosty  —  the  earth 
was  everywhere  one  carpet  of  snow,  and  looked  just 
like  the  ghost  of  a  dead  world,  wrapped  in  a  white 
winding  sheet;  the  moon  was  full,  round,  and  of  a 
silvery  brightness,  and  by  her  discreet  silence  afforded 
an  example  to  the  rising  generation  of  young  dam 
sels,  while  the  myriads  of  stars,  that  multiplied  as  you 
gazed  at  them,  seemed  as  though  they  were  frozen 
into  icicles,  they  looked  so  cold,  and  sparkled  with 
such  a  glorious  lustre.  The  streets  and  roads  leading 
from  the  city  were  all  alive  with  sleighs,  filled  with 
jovial  souls,  whose  echoing  laughter  and  cheerful 
songs  mingled  with  a  thousand  merry  bells,  that 
jingled  in  harmonious  dissonance,  giving  spirit  to  the 
horses  and  animation  to  the  scene.  In  the  license  of 
the  season,  warranted  by  long  custom,  each  of  the 
sleighs  saluted  the  others  in  passing  with  a,  "  Happy 
New-year,"  a  merry  jest,  or  a  mischievous  gibe,  ex 
changed  from  one  gay  party  to  another.  All  was  life, 
motion,  and  merriment ;  and  as  old  frost-bitten  Win 
ter,  aroused  from  his  trance  by  the  rout  and  revelry 
around,  raised  his  weather-beaten  head  to  see  what  was 
passing,  he  felt  his  icy  blood  warming  and  coursing 
through  his  veins,  and  wished  he  could  only  overtake 
the  laughing  buxom  Spring,  that  he  might  dance  a 
jig  with  her,  and  be  as  frisky  as  the  best  of  them. 
But,  as  the  old  rogue  could  not  bring  this  desirable 
matter  about,  he  contented  himself  with  calling  for 
a  jolly  bumper  of  cocktail,  and  drinking  a  swingeing 
draught  to  the  health  of  the  blessed  St.  Nicholas,  and 

18 


274  THE   REVENGE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

those  who  honour  the  memory  of  the  president  of 
good  fellows. 

All  this  time  the  wicked  women  and  their  accom 
plices  lay  under  the  malediction  of  the  good  saint, 
who  caused  them  to  be  bewitched  by  an  old  lady 
from  Salem.  Mrs.  Amos  Shuttle  could  not  sleep,  be 
cause  something  had  whispered  in  her  apprehensive 
ear,  that  her  son,  her  only  son,  whom  she  had  engaged 
to  the  daughter  of  Count  Grenouille,  in  Paris,  then 
about  three  years  old,  was  actually  at  that  moment 
crossing  Kissing-Bridge,  in  company  with  little  Susan 
Varian,  and  some  others.  Now  Susan  was  the  fair 
est  little  lady  of  all  the  land.  She  had  a  face  and  an 
eye  just  like  the  Widow  Wadman  in  Leslie's  charm 
ing  picture,  a  face  and  an  eye  which  no  reasonable 
man  under  Heaven  could  resist,  except  my  Uncle 
Toby  —  beshrew  him  and  his  fortifications,  I  say! 
She  was,  moreover,  a  good  little  girl,  and  an  accom 
plished  little  girl  —  but,  alas!,  she  had  not  mounted  to 
that  step  in  the  Jacob's  ladder  of  fashion  which  quali 
fies  a  person  for  the  heaven  of  high  ton,  and  Mrs. 
Shuttle  had  not  been  to  Europe  for  nothing.  She 
would  rather  have  seen  her  son  wedded  to  dissipation 
and  profligacy  than  to  Susan  Varian  ;  and  the  thought 
of  his  being  out  sleigh-riding  with  her  was  worse 
than  the  toothache.  It  kept  her  awake  all  the  live 
long  night;  and  the  only  consolation  she  had  was 
scolding  poor  Amos,  because  the  sleigh-bells  made 
such  a  noise. 

As  for  Mrs.  Hubblebubble  and  Mrs.  Doubletrouble, 
neither  of  the  wretches  got  a  wink  of  sleep  during  a 
whole  week,  for  thinking  of  the  beautiful  French 
chairs  and  damask  curtains  Mrs.  Shuttle  had  brought 


THE   REVENGE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  275 

from  Europe.  They  forthwith  besieged  their  good 
men,  leaving  them  no  rest  until  they  sent  out  orders 
to  Paris  for  just  such  rich  chairs  and  curtains  as  those 
of  the  thrice-happy  Mrs.  Shuttle,  from  whom  they 
kept  the  affair  a  profound  secret,  each  meaning  to 
treat  her  to  an  agreeable  surprise.  In  the  mean  while 
they  could  not  rest,  for  fear  the  vessel  which  was  to 
bring  these  treasures  might  be  lost  on  her  passage. 
Such  was  the  dreadful  judgment  inflicted  on  them 
by  the  good  St.  Nicholas. 

The  perplexities  of  Mrs.  Shuttle  increased  daily. 
In  the  first  place,  do  all  she  could,  she  could  not 
make  Amos  a  fine  gentleman.  This  was  a  metamor 
phosis  which  Ovid  would  never  have  dreamed  of. 
He  would  be  telling  the  price  of  everything  in  his 
house,  his  furniture,  his  wines,  and  his  dinners,  inso 
much  that  those  who  envied  his  prosperity,  or,  per 
haps,  only  despised*  his  pretensions,  were  wont  to  say, 
after  eating  his  venison  and  drinking  his  old  Madeira, 
"  that  he  ought  to  have  been  a  tavern-keeper,  he  knew 
so  well  how  to  make  out  a  bill."  Mrs.  Shuttle  once 
overheard  a  speech  of  this  kind,  and  the  good  St. 
Nicholas  himself,  who  had  brought  it  about,  almost 
felt  sorry  for  the  mortification  she  endured  on  the 
occasion. 

Scarcely  had  she  got  over  this,  when  she  was  invited 
to  a  ball  by  Mrs.  Hubblebubble,  and  the  first  thing 
she  saw  on  entering  the  drawing-room  was  a  suit  of 
damask  curtains  and  chairs,  as  much  like  her  own  as 
two  peas,  only  the  curtains  had  far  handsomer  fringe. 
Mrs.  Shuttle  came  very  near  fainting  away,  but  es 
caped  for  that  time,  determining  to  mortify  this  impu 
dent  creature,  by  taking  not  the  least  notice  of  her 


276  THE   REVENGE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

finery.  But  St.  Nicholas  ordered  it  otherwise,  so  that 
she  was  at  last  obliged  to  acknowledge  they  were 
very  elegant  indeed.  Nay,  this  was  not  the  worst,  for 
she  overheard  one  lady  whisper  to  another,  that  Mrs. 
Hubblebubble's  curtains  were  much  richer  than  Mrs. 
Shuttle's. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say,"  replied  the  other  — "  I  dare  say 
,  Mrs.  Shuttle  bought  them  second-hand,  for  her  hus 
band  is  as  mean  as  pursley." 

This  was  too  much.  The  unfortunate  woman  was 
taken  suddenly  ill  —  called  her  carriage,  and  went 
home,  where  it  is  supposed  she  would  have  died  that 
evening,  had  she  not  wrought  upon  Amos  to  promise 
her  an  entire  new  suit  of  French  furniture  for  her 
drawing-room  and  parlour  to  boot,  besides  a  new  car 
riage.  But  for  all  this  she  could  not  close  her  eyes 
that  night,  for  thinking  of  the  "  second-hand  cur 
tains." 

Nor  was  the  wicked  Mrs.  Doubletrouble  a  whit  bet 
ter  off,  when  her  friend  Mrs.  Hubblebubble  treated  her 
to  the  agreeable  surprise  of  the  French  window-cur 
tains  and  chairs.  "It  is  too  bad  —  too  bad,  I  declare," 
said  she  to  herself;  "but  I'll  pay  her  off  soon."  Ac 
cordingly  she  issued  invitations  for  a  grand  ball  and 
supper,  at  which  both  Mrs.  Shuttle  and  Mrs.  Hubble- 
bubble  were  struck  dumb,  at  beholding  a  suit  of  cur 
tains  and  a  set  of  chairs  exactly  of  the  same  pattern 
with  theirs.  The  shock  was  terrible,  and  it  is  impos 
sible  to  say  what  might  have  been  the  consequences, 
had  not  the  two  ladies  all  at  once  thought  of  uniting 
in  abusing  Mrs.  Doubletrouble  for  her  extravagance. 

"  I  pity  poor  Mr.  Doubletrouble,"  said  Mrs.  Shuttle, 
shrugging  her  shoulders  significantly,  and  glancing  at 
the  room. 


THE   REVENGE   OF   SAINT  NICHOLAS.  277 

"  And  so  do  I,"  said  Mrs.  Hubblebubble,  doing  the 
same. 

Mrs.  Doubletrouble  had  her  eye  upon  them,  and  en 
joyed  their  mortification,  until  her  pride  was  brought 
to  the  ground  by  a  dead  shot  from  Mrs.  Shuttle,  who 
was  heard  to  exclaim,  in  reply  to  a  lady  who  ob 
served  that  the  chairs  and  curtains  were  very  hand 
some, 

"  Why,  yes ;  but  they  have  been  out  of  fashion  in 
Paris  a  long  time ;  and,  besides,  really  they  are  getting 
so  common,  that  I  intend  to  have  mine  removed  to 
the  nursery." 

Heavens!,  what  a  blow!  Poor  Mrs.  Doubletrouble 
hardly  survived  it.  Such  a  night  of  misery  as  the 
wicked  woman  endured  almost  made  the  good  St. 
Nicholas  regret  the  judgment  he  had  passed  upon 
these  mischievous  and  conceited  females.  But  he 
thought  to  himself  he  would  persevere,  until  he  had 
made  them  a  sad  example  to  all  innovators  upon  the 
ancient  customs  of  our  forefathers. 

Thus  were  these  wicked  and  miserable  women 
spurred  on  by  witchcraft  from  one  piece  of  prodigality 
to  another,  and  a  deadly  rivalship  grew  up  between 
them,  which  destroyed  their  own  happiness  and  that 
of  their  husbands.  Mrs.  Shuttle's  new  carriage  and 
drawing-room  furniture  in  due  time  were  followed  by 
similar  extravagances  on  the  part  of  the  two  other 
wicked  women  who  had  conspired  against  the  hal 
lowed  institutions  of  St.  Nicholas ;  and  soon  -their 
rivalry  came  to  such  a  height  that  not  one  of  them 
had  a  moment's  rest  or  comfort  from  that  time  for 
ward.  But  they  still  shut  their  doors  on  the  jolly 
anniversary  of  St.  Nicholas,  though  the  old  respectable 


278  THE   REVENGE    OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

burghers  and  their  wives,  who  had  held  up  their  heads 
time  out  of  mind,  continued  the  good  custom,  and 
laughed  at  the  presumption  of  these  upstart  interlop 
ers,  who  were  followed  only  by  a  few  people  of  silly 
pretensions,  who  had  no  more  soul  than  Amos  Shut 
tle  himself.  The  three  wicked  women  grew  to  be 
almost  perfect  skeletons,  on  account  of  the  vehemence 
with  which  they  strove  to  outdo  each  other,  and  the 
terrible  exertions  necessary  to  keep  up  the  appearance 
of  being  the  best  friends  in  the  world.  In  short,  they 
became  the  laughing-stock  of  the  town;  and  sensible, 
well-bred  folks  cut  their  acquaintance,  except  when 
they  sometimes  accepted  an  invitation  to  a  party, 
just  to  make  merry  with  their  folly  and  conceited- 
ness. 

The  excellent  St.  Nicholas,  finding  they  still  per 
sisted  in  their  opposition  to  his  rites  and  ceremonies, 
determined  to  inflict  on  them  the  last  and  worst  pun 
ishment  that  can  befall  the  sex.  He  decreed  that  they 
should  be  deprived  of  all  the  delights  springing  from 
the  domestic  affections,  and  all  taste  for  the  innocent 
and  virtuous  enjoyments  of  a  happy  fireside.  Accord 
ingly,  they  lost  all  relish  for  home ;  were  continually 
gadding  about  from  one  place  to  another  in  search  of 
pleasure ;  and  worried  themselves  to  death  to  find 
happiness  where  it  is  never  to  be  found.  Their  whole 
lives  became  one  long  series  of  disappointed  hopes, 
galled  pride,  and  gnawing  envy.  They  lost  their 
healtti,  they  lost  their  time,  and  their  days  became 
days  of  harassing  impatience,  their  nights  nights  of 
sleepless,  feverish  excitement,  ending  in  weariness  and 
disappointment.  The  good  saint  sometimes  felt  sorry 
for  them,  but  their  continued  obstinacy  determined 


THE   REVENGE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  279 

him  to  persist  in  his  scheme  for  punishing  the  upstart 
pride  of  these  rebellious  females. 

Young  Shuttle,  who  had  a  soul,  which  I  suppose 
he  inherited  from  his  mother,  all  this  while  continued 
his  attentions  to  little  Susan  Varian,  and  so  added  to 
the  miseries  inflicted  on  the  wicked  old  woman.  Mrs. 
Shuttle  insisted  that  Amos  should  threaten  to  disin 
herit  his  son,  unless  he  gave  up  this  attachment. 

"  Lord  bless  your  soul,  Abby,"  said  Amos,  "  what's 
the  use  of  my  threatening  ?  The  boy  knows,  as  well 
as  I  do,  that  I've  no  will  of  my  own.  Why,  bless  my 
soul,  Abby  —  " 

"  Bless  your  soul ! "  interrupted  Mrs.  Shuttle  ;  "  I 
wonder  who'd  take  the  trouble  to  bless  it,  but  your 
self  !  —  However,  if  you  don't,  I  will." 

Accordingly  she  threatened  the  young  man  with 
being  disinherited,  unless  he  turned  his  back  on  little 
Susan  Varian,  which  no  man  ever  did  without  get 
ting  a  heartache. 

"  If  my  father  goes  on  as  he  has  done  lately,"  sighed 
the  youth,  "  he  won't  have  anything  left  to  disinherit 
me  of  but  his  affection,  I  fear.  But  if  he  had  millions 
I  would  not  abandon  Susan." 

"  Are  you  not  ashamed  of  such  a  plebeian  attach 
ment?  You,  that  have  been  to  Europe!  But,  once 
for  all,  remember  this,  renounce  this  lowborn  upstart, 
or  quit  your  father's  home  for  ever." 

"  Upstart ! "  thought  young  Shuttle ;  —  "  one  of  the 
oldest  families  in  the  city."  He  made  his  mother  a 
respectful  bow,  bade  Heaven  bless  her,  and  left  the 
house.  He  was,  however,  met  at  the  door  by  his 
father,  who  said  to  him, 

"  Johnny,  I  give  my  consent ;  but  mind,  don't  tell 


280  THE   REVENGE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

your  mother  a  word  of  the  matter.  I'll  let  her  know 
I've  a  soul,  as  well  as  other  people ; "  and  he  tossed 
his  head  like  a  war-horse. 

The  night  after  this,  Johnny  was  married  to  little 
Susan,  and  the  blessing  of  affection  and  beauty  lighted 
upon  his  pillow.  Her  old  father,  who  was  in  a  re 
spectable  business,  took  his  son-in-law  into  partner 
ship,  and  they  prospered  so  well,  that  in  a  few  years 
Johnny  was  independent  of  all  the  world,  with  the 
prettiest  wife  and  children  in  the  land.  But  Mrs. 
Shuttle  was  inexorable,  while  the  knowledge  of  his 
prosperity  and  happiness  only  worked  her  up  to  a 
higher  pitch  of  anger,  and  added  to  the  pangs  of  jeal 
ousy  perpetually  inflicted  on  her  by  the  rivalry  of  Mrs. 
Hubblebubble  and  Mrs.  Doubletrouble,  who  suffered 
under  the  like  infliction  from  the  wrathful  St.  Nicho 
las,  who  was  resolved  to  make  them  an  example  to 
all  posterity. 

No  fortune,  be  it  ever  so  great,  can  stand  the  eter 
nal  sapping  of  wasteful  extravagance,  engendered  and 
stimulated  by  the  baleful  passion  of  envy.  In  less 
than  ten  years  from  the  hatching  of  the  diabolical  con 
spiracy  of  these  three  wicked  women  against  the 
supremacy  of  the  excellent  St.  Nicholas,  their  spend 
thrift  rivalship  had  ruined  the  fortunes  of  their  hus 
bands,  and  entailed  upon  themselves  misery  and 
remorse.  Rich  Amos  Shuttle  became  at  last  as  poor 
as  a  church-mouse,  and  would  have  been  obliged  to 
take  to  the  loom  again  in  his  old  age,  had  not  Johnny, 
now  rich,  and  a  worshipful  magistrate  of  the  city, 
afforded  him  and  his  better  half  a  generous  shelter 
under  his  own  happy  roof.  Mrs.  Hubblebubble  and 
Mrs.  Doubletrouble  had  scarcely  time  to  condole  with 


THE   REYENGE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  281 

Mrs.  Shuttle,  and  congratulate  each  other,  when  their 
husbands  went  the  way  of  all  flesh,  that  is  to  say, 
failed  for  a  few  tens  of  thousands,  and  called  their 
creditors  together  to  hear  the  good  news.  The  two 
wicked  women  lived  long  enough  after  this  to  repent 
of  their  offence  against  St.  Nicholas ;  but  they  never 
imported  any  more  French  curtains,  and  at  last  per 
ished  miserably  in  an  attempt  to  set  the  fashions  in 
Pennypot  alley. 

Mrs.  Abigail  Shuttle  might  have  lived  happily  the 
rest  of  her  life  with  her  children  and  grandchildren, 
(who  all  treated  her  with  reverent  courtesy  and  affec 
tion),  now  that  the  wrath  of  the  mighty  St.  Nicholas 
was  appeased  by  her  exemplary  punishment.  But 
she  could  not  get  over  her  bad  habits  and  feelings,  or 
forgive  her  lovely  little  daughter-in-law  for  treating 
her  so  kindly  when  she  so  little  deserved  it.  She 
gradually  pined  away ;  and  though  she  revived  on 
hearing  of  the  catastrophe  of  Mrs.  Hubblebubble  and 
Mrs.  Doubletrouble,  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  The 
remainder  of  the  life  of  this  nefarious  woman  was  a 
series  of  disappointments  and  heart-burnings.  When 
she  died,  Amos  tried  to  shed  a  few  tears,  but  he  found 
it  impossible ;  I  suppose  because,  as  his  wife  always 
said,  "  he  had  no  soul." 

Such  was  the  terrible  revenge  of  St.  Nicholas, 
which  ought  to  be  a  warning  to  all  who  attempt  to 
set  themselves  up  against  the  venerable  customs  of 
their  ancestors,  and  backslide  from  the  hallowed  insti 
tutions  of  the  blessed  saint,  to  whose  good  offices, 
without  doubt,  it  is  owing,  that  this  his  favourite  city 
has  transcended  all  others  of  the  universe  in  beautiful 
damsels,  valorous  young  men,  mince-pies,  and  New- 


282  THE   REVENGE   OF   SAINT  NICHOLAS. 

year  cookies.  The  catastrophe  of  these  three  iniqui 
tous  wives  had  a  wonderful  influence  in  the  city,  inso 
much  that,  from  this  time  forward,  no  gray  mares 
were  ever  known,  no  French  furniture  was  ever  used, 
and  no  woman  was  hardy  enough  to  set  herself  up  in 
opposition  to  the  good  customs  of  St.  Nicholas.  And 
so,  wishing  many  happy  New-years  to  all  my  dear 
countrywomen  and  countrymen,  saving  those  who 
shut  their  doors  to  old  friends,  high  or  low,  rich  or 
poor,  on  that  blessed  anniversary  which  makes  more 
glad  hearts  than  all  others  put  together  —  I  say,  wish 
ing  a  thousand  happy  New-years  to  all  with  this  single 
exception,  I  lay  down  my  pen,  with  a  caution  to  all 
wicked  women  to  beware  of  the  revenge  of  St. 
Nicholas. 


COB  US    YE11KS. 


COBTJS  YERKS. 


LITTLE  Cobus  Yerks  —  his  name  was  Jacob,  but, 
being  a  Dutchman,  if  not  a  double  Dutchman,  it  was 
rendered  in  English,  Cobus  —  little  Cobus,  I  say,  lived 
on  the  banks  of  Sawmill  River,  where  it  winds  close 
under  the  brow  of  the  Raven  Rock,  an  enormous  pre 
cipice  jutting  out  of  the  side  of  the  famous  Butter 
milk  Hill,  of  which  the  reader  has  doubtless  often 
heard.  It  was  a  rude,  romantic  spot,  distant  from  the 
high-road,  which,  however,  could  be  seen  winding  up 
the  hill  about  three  miles  off.  His  nearest  neighbours 
were  at  the  same  distance,  and  he  seldom  saw  com 
pany  except  at  night,  when  the  fox  and  the  weasel 
sometimes  beat  up  his  quarters,  and  caused  a  horrible 
cackling  among  the  poultry. 

One  Tuesday,  in  the  month  of  November,  1793, 
Cobus  had  gone  in  his  wagon  to  the  market-town  on 
the  river,  whence  the  boats  plied  weekly  to  New  York, 
with  the  produce  of  the  neighbouring  farmers.  It 
was  then  a  pestilent  little  place  for  running  races, 
pitching  quoits,  and  wrestling  for  gin-slings ;  but  I 
must  do  it  the  credit  to  say,  that  it  is  now  a  very 
orderly  town,  sober  and  quiet,  save  when  Parson  Ma- 
thias,  who  calls  himself  a  son  of  thunder,  is  praying 


286  COBUS   YERKS. 

in  secret,  so  as  to  be  heard  across  the  river.  It  so 
happened,  that,  of  all  the  days  in  the  year,  this  was 
the  very  day  a  rumour  had  got  into  town,  that  I  my 
self —  the  veritable  writer  of  this  true  story  —  had 
been  poisoned  by  a  dish  of  Souchong  tea,  which  was 
bought,  a  great  bargain,  of  a  pedler.  There  was  not 
a  stroke  of  work  done  in  the  village  that  day.  The 
shoemaker  abandoned  his  awl ;  the  tailor,  his  goose  ; 
the  hatter,  his  bow ;  and  the  forge  of  the  blacksmith 
was  cool  from  dawn  till  nightfall.  Silent  was  the 
sonorous  harmony  of  the  big  spinning-wheel;  silent 
the  village  song;  and  silent  the  fiddle  of  Master 
Timothy  Canty,  who  passed  his  livelong  time  in  play 
ing  tuneful  measures,  arid  catching  bugs  and  butter 
flies.  I  must  say  something  of  Tim  before  I  go  on 
with  my  tale. 

Master  Timothy  was  first  seen  in  the  village,  one 
foggy  morning,  after  a  warm,  showery  night,  when  he 
was  detected  in  a  garret,  at  the  extremity  of  the 
suburbs ;  and  it  was  the  general  supposition  that  he 
had  rained  down  in  company  with  a  store  of  little 
toads  that  were  seen  hopping  about,  as  is  usual  after 
a  shower.  Around  his  garret  were  disposed  a  num 
ber  of  unframed  pictures,  painted  on  glass,  represent 
ing  the  Four  Seasons,  the  old  King  of  Prussia  and 
Prince  Ferdinand  of  Brunswick,  in  their  sharp-pointed 
cocked-hats,  the  fat,  baldpated,  Marquis  of  Granby, 
the  beautiful  Constantia  Phillips,  and  divers  others, 
not  forgetting  the  renowned  Kitty  Fisher,  who,  I  hon 
estly  confess,  was  my  favourite  among  them  all.  The 
whole  village  poured  into  his  quarters  to  gaze  at  these 
chefs-d'oeuvre ;  and  it  is  my  confirmed  opinion,  which  I 
shall  carry  to  the  grave,  that  neither  the  gallery  of 


COBUS  YERKS.  287 

Florence,  nor  Dresden,  nor  the  Louvre,  was  ever 
visited  by  so  many  real  amateurs.  Beside  the  works 
of  art,  there  were  a  great  many  other  curiosities,  at 
least  such  to  the  simple  villagers,  who  were  always 
sure  of  being  welcomed  by  the  owner  with  a  jest  and 
a  tune. 

Master  Tim,  as  they  came  to  call  him  when  they 
got  to  be  a  little  acquainted,  was  a  rare  fellow,  such 
as  seldom  rains  down  anywhere,  much  less  on  a  country 
village.  He  was  of  "  merry  England,"  as  they  call  it 
—  at  least  so  he  said  and  I  believe,  although  he  belied 
his  nativity,  by  being  the  most  light-hearted  rogue  in 
the  world,  even  when  the  fog  was  at  the  thickest.  In 
truth,  he  was  ever  in  a  good-humour,  unless  it  might 
be  when  a  rare  bug  or  gorgeous  butterfly,  that  he  had 
followed  through  thick  and  thin,  escaped  his  net  at 
last.  Then,  to  be  sure,  he  was  apt  to  call  the  recreant 
all  the  "  vagabonds "  he  could  think  of.  He  was  a 
middle-sized  man,  whose  person  decreased  regularly, 
from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  —  I  was  going  to 
say,  sole  of  his  foot  —  but  it  was  only  to  the  com 
mencement  of  that  extremity,  to  speak  by  the  card. 
The  top  of  his  head  was  broad  and  flat,  and  so  was 
his  forehead,  which  took  up  at  least  two  thirds  of  his 
face,  that  tapered  off  suddenly  to  a  chin,  as  sharp  as 
the  point  of  a  triangle.  His  forehead  was  indeed  a 
large  tract,  diversified,  like  the  country  in  which  he 
had  taken  up  his  abode,  with  odd  varieties  of  hill  and 
dale,  meadow  and  ploughland,  hedge  and  ditch,  ravine 
and  watercourse.  It  had  as  many  points  as  a  peri 
winkle.  The  brow  projected  exuberantly,  though  not 
heavily,  over  a  pair  of  rascally  little  cross-firing, 
twinkling  eyes,  that,  as  the  country  people  said,  looked 


288  COBUS   YERKS. 

at  least  nine  ways  from  Sunday.  His  teeth  were 
white  enough,  but  no  two  of  them  were  fellows.  But 
his  skull  would  have  turned  the  brains  of  a  phrenolo 
gist,  in  exploring  the  mysteries  of  its  development.  It 
was  shaped  somewhat  like  Stony  Point  —  which 
everybody  knows  as  the  scene  of  a  gallant  exploit 
of  Pennsylvania!!  Wayne  —  and  had  quite  as  many 
abruptnesses  and  quizzical  protuberances  to  brag 
about.  In  the  upper  region  of  his  forehead,  as  he 
assured  us,  he  carried  his  money,  in  the  shape  of  a 
piece  of  silver,  three  inches  long  and  two  wide,  in 
serted  there  in  consequence  of  a  fracture  he  got  by 
falling  down  a  precipice  while  in  hot  chase  of  what 
figured  in  the  anecdote  as  "  a  vagabond  of  a  beetle." 
Descending  towards  terra  firma,  to  wit,  his  feet,  we 
find  his  body  gradually  diminishing  to  his  legs,  which 
were  so  thin,  that  everybody  wondered  how  they  could 
carry  the  great  head.  But,  like  Captain  Wattle,  each 
had  a  foot  at  the  end  of  it,  full  as  large  as  the  Black 
Dwarf's.  It  is  so  long  ago  that  I  almost  forget  his 
costume.  All  I  recollect  is,  that  he  never  wore  boots 
or  pantaloons,  but  exhibited  his  spindles  in  all  weath 
ers  in  worsted  stockings,  and  his  feet  in  shoes,  gor 
geously  caparisoned  in  a  pair  of  square  silver  buckles, 
the  only  pieces  of  finery  he  ever  displayed. 

In  the  genial  months  of  spring  and  summer,  and 
early  in  autumn,  Master  Timothy  was,  most  of  his 
time,  chasing  bugs  and  butterflies  about  the  fields,  to 
the  utter  confusion  of  the  people,  who  wondered  what 
he  could  want  with  such  trumpery.  Being  a  genius 
and  an  idler  by  profession,  I  used  to  accompany  him 
frequently  in  these  excursions,  for  he  was  fond  of  me, 
and  called  me  vagabond  oftener  than  he  did  anybody 


COBUS  YERKS.  289 

else.  He  had  a  little  net  of  green  gauze,  (so  con 
structed  as  to  open  and  shut  as  occasion  required,  to 
entrap  the  small  fry),  and  a  box  with  a  cork  bottom, 
upon  which  he  impaled  his  prisoners  with  true  scien 
tific  barbarity,  by  sticking  a  pin  in  them.  Thus 
equipped,  this  Don  Quixote  of  butterfly-catchers,  with 
myself  his  faithful  esquire,  would  sally  forth  of  a 
morning  into  the  clovered  meadows  and  flower-dotted 
fields,  over  brook,  through  tangled  copse  and  briery 
dell,  in  chase  of  these  gentlemen-commoners  of  the 
air.  Ever  and  anon,  as  he  came  upon  some  little 
retired  nook,  where  nature,  like  a  modest  virgin, 
shrouded  her  beauties  from  the  common  view  —  a 
rocky  glen,  romantic  cottage,  rustic  bridge,  or  brawl 
ing  stream  —  he  would  take  out  his  portfolio,  and 
pointing  me  to  some  conspicuous  station  to  animate 
his  little  scene,  sketch  it  and  me  together,  with  a 
mingled  taste  and  skill  I  have  never  since  seen  sur 
passed.  I  figure  in  all  his  landscapes,  although  he 
often  called  me  a  vagabond,  because  he  could  not 
drill  me  into  picturesque  attitudes.  But  the  finest 
sport  for  me  was  to  watch  him  creeping  slily  after  a 
humming-bird,  the  object  of  his  most  intense  desires, 
half-buried  in  the  bliss  of  the  dewy  honeysuckle,  and, 
just  as  he  was  on  the  point  of  covering  it  with  his 
net,  to  see  the  little  vagrant  flit  away  with  a  swiftness 
that  made  it  invisible.  It  was  an  invaluable  sight  to 
behold  Master  Timothy  stand  wiping  his  continent  of 
a  forehead,  and  blessing  the  bird  for  a  "  little  vagabond." 
These  were  happy  times,  and  at  this  moment  I  recall 
them,  I  hardly  know  why,  with  a  melancholy  yet 
pleasing  delight. 

During  the  winter  season,    Master   Timothy  was 
19 


290  COBUS   YERKS. 

usually  employed  in  the  daytime  painting  pleasure 
sleighs,  which,  at  that  period,  it  was  the  fashion 
among  the  farmers  to  have  as  fine  as  fiddles.  Timo 
thy  was  a  desperate  hand  at  a  true-lover's-knot,  a 
cipher,  or  a  wreath  of  flowers ;  and,  as  for  a  blazing 
sun  !  —  he  executed  one  for  the  squire,  that  was  seri 
ously  suspected  of  melting  all  the  snow  in  ten  leagues 
round.  He  would  go  a  dozen  miles  on  such  a  busi 
ness,  and  always  carried  his  materials  on  a  board  upon 
the  top  of  his  head  —  it  being  before  the  invention  of 
high-crowned  hats.  Destiny  had  decreed  he  should 
follow  this  trade,  and  nature  had  provided  him  a  head 
on  purpose.  In  the  long  winter  evenings,  it  was  his 
pleasure  to  sit  by  the  fireside,  and  tell  enormous 
stories  to  groups  of  horror-stricken  listeners.  I  never 
knew  a  man  that  had  been  so  often  robbed  on  Houns- 
low  Heath  or  had  seen  so  many  ghosts  in  his  day  as 
Master  Tim  Canty.  Peace  to  his  ashes !  —  he  is 
dead ;  and,  if  report  is  to  be  credited,  is  sometimes 
seen  on  moonlight  nights  in  the  church-yard,  with  his 
little  green  gauze  net,  chasing  the  ghosts  of  moths 
and  beetles,  as  he  was  wont  in  past  times. 

But  it  is  high  time  to  return  to  my  story;  for  I  can 
didly  confess  I  never  think  of  honest  Tim,  that  I  don't 
grow  as  garrulous  as  an  old  lady  talking  about  the 
Revolution  and  the  Yagers.  In  all  country  villages  I 
ever  saw  or  heard  of,  whenever  anything  strange,  new, 
horrible,  or  delightful  happens,  or  is  supposed  to  have 
happened,  all  the  male  inhabitants,  not  to  say  female, 
make  for  the  tavern  as  fast  as  possible,  to  hear  the 
news,  or  tell  the  news,  and  get  at  the  bottom  of  the 
affair.  I  don't  deny  that  truth  is  sometimes  to  be 
found  at  the  bottom  of  a  well ;  but  in  these  cases  she 


COBUS   YERKS.  291 

is  generally  found  at  the  bottom  of  the  glass.  Be  this 
as  it  may,  when  Cobus  Yerks  looked  into  the  village 
inn,  just  to  say  How  d'ye  do  to  the  landlady,  he  lit  upon 
a  party  of  some  ten  or  a  dozen  people,  discussing  the 
affair  of  my  being  poisoned  with  Souchong  tea.  The 
calamity,  by  the  way,  had  by  this  time  been  extended 
to  the  whole  family,  not  one  of  whom  had  been  left 
alive  by  the  bloody-minded  damsel,  Rumour. 

Cobus  could  not  resist  the  fascination  of  .these 
murders.  He  edged  himself  into  the  jury,  and  after 
a  little  while  they  were  joined  by  Master  Timothy, 
who,  on  hearing  of  the  catastrophe  of  his  old  fellow- 
labourer  in  butterfly-catching,  had  stridden  over,  (a 
distance  of  two  miles),  to  our  house,  to  ascertain  the 
truth  of  the  report.  He  of  course  found  it  was  a  mis 
take,  and  had  now  returned  with  a  nefarious  design 
of  frightening  them  all  out  of  their  wits  with  a  tale  of 
more  than  modern  horrors.  By  this  time  it  was  the 
dusk  of  the  evening,  and  Cobus  had  a  long  way  to 
travel  before  he  could  reach  home.  He  had  been  so 
captivated  with  the  story,  and  the  additions  every 
moment  furnished  by  various  new-comers,  that  he  for 
got  the  time  till  it  began  to  grow  quite  dark ;  and 
then  he  was  so  much  appalled  at  what  he  had  heard, 
that  he  grew  fast  to  his  chair  in  the  chimney-corner, 
where  he  had  intrenched  himself.  It  was  at  this  mo 
ment  Master  Timothy  came  in  with  the  design  afore 
said. 

The  whole  party  gathered  round  him,  to  know  if 
the  story  of  the  poisoning  was  true.  Tim  shook  his 
head;  and  the  shaking  of  such  a  head  was  awful. 
"  What !  all  the  family  ?  ",  cried  they,  with  one  voice. 
"  Every  soul  of  them,"  cried  Tim,  in  a  hollow  tone  — 


292  COBUS   YERKS. 

"  every  soul  of  them,  poor  creatures ;  and  not  only 
they,  but  all  the  cattle,  horses,  pigs,  ducks,  chickens, 
cats,  dogs,  and  guinea-hens,  are  poisoned."  "  What ! 
with  Souchong  tea  ?  ';  "  No  —  with  coloquintida." 
Coloquintida !  the  very  name  was  enough  to  poison 
a  whole  generation  of  Christian  people.  "  But  the 
black  bull-dog ! "  continued  Timothy,  in  a  sepulchral 
voice  that  curdled  the  very  marrow  of  their  innermost 
bones.  "  What  of  the  black  bull-dog  ?  ",  quoth  little 
Cobus.  "  Why,  they  do  say  that  he  came  to  life 
again  after  lying  six  hours  stone-dead,  and  ran  away 
howling  like  a  devil  incarnate."  "  A  devil  incarnate ! " 
repeated  Cobus,  who  knew  no  more  about  the  mean 
ing  of  that  fell  word  than  if  it  had  been  Greek.  He 
only  knew  it  was  something  very  terrible.  "  Yes," 
replied  Timothy ;  "  and  what's  more,  I  saw  where  he 
jumped  over  the  barn-yard  gate,  and  there  was  the 
print  of  a  cloven  foot,  as  plain  as  the  daylight  this 
blessed  minute."  It  was  as  dark  as  pitch,  but  the 
comparison  was  considered  proof  positive.  "  A  cloven 
foot ! "  groaned  Cobus,  and  squeezed  himself  almost 
into  the  oven,  while  the  thought  of  going  home  all 
alone  in  the  dark,  past  the  church-yard,  the  old  grave 
at  the  cross-roads,  and,  above  all,  the  spot  where  John 
Ryer  was  hanged  for  shooting  the  sheriff,  smote  upon 
his  heart,  and  beat  it  into  a  jelly  —  at  least,  it  shook 
like  one.  What  if  he  should  meet  the  big  black  dog, 
with  his  cloven  foot,  who  howled  like  a  devil  incar 
nate  !  The  thought  was  enough  to  wither  the  heart 
of  a  stone. 

Cobus  was  a  little,  knock-kneed,  broad-faced,  and 
broad-shouldered  Dutchman,  who  believed  all  things, 
past,  present,  and  to  come,  concerning  spooks,  goblins, 


COBUS  YERKS.  293 

and  fiends  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  from  a  fairy  to  a 
giant.  Tim  Canty  knew  him  of  old,  for  he  had  once 
painted  a  sleigh  for  him,  and  frightened  Cobus  out  of 
six  nights'  sleep,  by  the  story  of  a  man  that  he  once 
saw  murdered  by  a  highwayman  on  Hounslow  Heath. 
Tim  followed  up  the  fiction  of  the  black  dog  with  sev 
eral  others,  each  more  dread  than  the  preceding,  till  he 
fairly  lifted  Cobus's  wits  off  the  hinges,  aided  as  he 
was  by  certain  huge  draughts  upon  a  pewter  mug, 
with  which  the  little  man  reinforced  his  courage  at 
short  intervals.  He  was  a  true  disciple  of  the  doc 
trine  that  spirit  and  courage,  that  is  to  say,  whiskey 
and  valour,  are  synonymous. 

It  now  began  to  wax  late  in  the  evening,  and  the 
company  departed,  not  one  by  one,  but  in  pairs,  to 
their  respective  homes.  The  landlady,  a  bitter  root 
of  a  woman,  and  more  than  a  match  for  half  the  men 
in  the  village,  began  to  grow  sleepy,  as  it  was  now  no 
longer  worth  her  while  to  keep  awake.  Gradually  all 
became  quiet  within  and  without  the  house,  except 
now  and  then  the  howling  of  a  wandering  cur,  and 
the  still  more  doleful  moaning  of  the  winds,  accom 
panied  by  the  hollow  thumpings  of  the  waves,  as 
they  dashed  on  the  rocky  shores  of  the  river  that  ran 
hard  by.  Once,  and  once  only,  the  cat  mewed  in  the 
garret,  and  almost  caused  Cobus  to  jump  out  of  his 
skin.  The  landlady  began  to  complain  that  it  grew 
late,  and  she  was  very  sleepy ;  but  Cobus  would  take 
no  hints,  manfully  keeping  his  post  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  till  at  last  the  good  woman  threatened  to 
call  up  her  two  negroes,  and  have  him  turned  neck 
and  heels  out  of  doors.  For  a  moment,  the  fear 
of  the  big  black  dog  with  the  cloven  foot  was 


294  COBUS   YERK'S. 

mastered  by  the  fear  of  the  two  stout  black  men, 
and  the  spirit  moved  Cobus  towards  the  door,  lovingly 
hugging  the  stone  jug,  which  he  had  taken  care  to  have 
plentifully  replenished  with  the  creature.  He  sallied 
forth  in  those  graceful  curves  which  are  affirmed  to 
constitute  the  true  lines  of  beauty ;  and  report  says 
that  he  made  a  copious  libation  of  the  contents  of  the 
stone  jug  outside  the  door,  ere  the  landlady,  after 
assisting  to  untie  his  patient  team,  had  tumbled  him 
into  his  wagon.  This  was  the  last  that  was  seen  of 
Cobus  Yerks. 

That  night  his  faithful  though  not  very  obedient 
little  wife,  whom  he  had  wedded  at  Tappan,  on  the  fa 
mous  sea  of  that  name,  and  who  wore  a  cap  trimmed 
with  pink  ribbons  when  she  went  to  church  on  Sun 
days,  fell  asleep  in  her  chair,  as  she  sat  anxiously 
watching  for  his  return.  About  midnight  she  waked, 
but  she  saw  not  her  beloved  Cobus,  nor  heard  his 
voice  calling  her  to  open  the  door.  But  she  heard 
the  raven,  or  something  very  like  it,  screaming  from  the 
Raven  Rock,  the  foxes  barking  about  the  house,  the 
wind  whistling  and  moaning  among  the  rocks  and 
trees  of  the  mountain-side,  and  a  terrible  commotion 
among  the  poultry — Cobus  having  taken  the  great 
house-dog  with  him  that  day.  Again  she  fell  asleep, 
and  waked  not  until  the  day  was  dawning.  She 
opened  the  window,  and  looked  forth  upon  as  beautiful 
an  autumnal  morning  as  ever  blessed  this  blessdd 
country.  The  yellow  sun  threw  a  golden  lustre  over 
the  many-tinted  woods,  painted  by  the  cunning  hand 
of  Nature  with  a  thousand  varied  dyes ;  the  smoke  of 
the  neighbouring  farm-houses  rose  straight  upward  to 
heaven  in  the  pure  atmosphere,  and  the  breath  of  the 


COBUS   YERKS.  295 

cattle  mingled  its  warm  vapour  with  the  invisible 
clearness  of  the  morning  air.  But  what  were  all 
these  beauties  of  delicious  nature  to  the  eye  and  the 
heart  of  the  anxious  wife,  who  saw  that  Cobus  was 
not  there ! 

She  went  forth  to  the  neighbours,  to  know  if  they 
had  seen  him,  and  they  good-naturedly  sallied  out  to 
seek  him  on  the  road  that  led  from  the  village  to  his 
home.  But  no  traces  of  him  could  be  found,  and 
they  were  returning  with  bad  news  for  his  troubled 
mate,  when  they  bethought  themselves  of  turning  into 
a  by-road  that  led  to  a  tavern  which  used  whilom  to 
attract  the  affections  of  honest  Cobus,  and  where  he 
was  sometimes  wont  to  stop  and  wet  his  whistle. 

They  had  not  gone  far,  when  they  began  to  per 
ceive  traces  of  the  lost  traveller.  First,  his  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  which  he  had  inherited  through  divers 
generations,  and  which  he  always  wore  when  he  went 
to  the  village,  lay  grovelling  in  the  dirt,  crushed  out 
of  all  goodly  shape  by  the  wheel  of  his  wagon,  which 
had  passed  over  it.  Next,  they  encountered  the  back 
board  of  the  wagon,  ornamented  with  C.  Y.  in  a  true- 
lover's-knot,  painted  by  Tim  Canty,  in  his  best  style 
—  and  anon,  a  little  farther,  a  shoe,  that  was  indenti- 
fied  as  having  belonged  to  our  hero,  by  having  upward 
of  three  hundred  hobnails  in  the  sole,  for  he  was  a 
saving  little  fellow,  though  he  would  wet  his  whistle 
sometimes,  in  spite  of  all  his  wife  and  the  minister 
could  say.  Proceeding  about  a  hundred  rods  farther, 
to  a  sudden  turn  of  the  road,  they  encountered  the 
wagon,  or  rather  the  fragments  of  it,  scattered  about 
and  along  in  the  highway,  and  the  horses  standing 
quietly  against  a  fence,  into  which  they  had  run  the 
pole. 


296  COBUS   YERKS. 

But  what  was  become  of  the  unfortunate  driver  no 
one  could  discover.  At  length,  after  searching  some 
time,  they  found  him  lying  in  a  tuft  of  blackberry 
briars,  amid  pieces  of  the  stone  jug,  lifeless  and  mo 
tionless.  His  face  was  turned  upward,  and  streaked 
with  seams  of  blood ;  his  clothes  were  torn,  bloody, 
and  disfigured  with  dirt ;  and  his  pipe,  that  he  carried 
in  the  buttonholes  of  his  waistcoat,  was  shivered  all 
to  nought.  They  made  their  way  to  the  body,  full  of 
sad  forebodings,  and  shook  it,  to  see  if  any  life  re 
mained.  But  it  was  all  in  vain  —  there  seemed 
neither  sense  nor  motion  there.  "  Maybe,  after  all,"  said 
one,  "  he  is  only  in  a  swound  —  here  is  a  drop  of  the 
spirits  left  in  the  bottom  of  the  jug  —  let  us  hold  it  to 
his  nose ;  it  may  bring  him  to  life." 

The  experiment  was  tried,  and,  wonderful  to  tell,  in 
a  moment  or  two,  Cobus,  opening  his  eyes,  and 
smacking  his  lips  with  peculiar  satisfaction,  exclaimed, 
"  Some  o'  that,  boys !  "  A  little  shaking  brought  him 
to  himself,  when,  being  asked  to  give  an  account  of 
the  disaster  of  his  wagon  and  his  stone  jug,  he  at 
first  shook  his  head  mysteriously,  and  demurred. 
Being,  however,  taken  to  the  neighbouring  tavern, 
and  comforted  a  little  with  divers  refreshments,  he 
was  again  pressed  for  his  story,  when,  assuming  a 
face  of  awful  mystification,  he  began  as  follows :  — 

"  You  must  know,"  said  Cobus,  "  I  started  rather 
late  from  town,  for  I  had  been  kept  there  by  —  by 
business ;  and  because,  you  see,  I  was  waiting  for  the 
moon  to  rise,  that  I  might  find  my  way  home  in  the 
dark  night.  But  it  grew  darker  and  darker,  until  you 
could  not  see  your  hand  before  your  face,  and  at  last 
I  concluded  to  set  out,  considering  I  was  as  sober  as 


COBUS  YERKS.  297 

a  deacon,  and  my  horses  could  see  their  way  blind 
fold.  I  had  not  gone  quite  round  the  corner  where 
John  Kyer  was  hung  for  shooting  Sheriff  Smith,  when 
I  heard  somebody  coming,  pat,  pat,  pat,  close  behind 
my  wagon.  T  looked  back,  but  I  could  see  nothing, 
it  was  so  dark.  By  and  by,  I  heard  it  again,  louder 
and  louder,  and  then  I  confess  I  began  to  be  a  little 
afeard.  So  I  whipped  up  my  horses  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  or  so,  and  then  let  them  walk  on.  I  listened, 
and  pat,  pat,  pat,  went  the  noise  again.  I  began  to 
be  a  good  deal  frightened,  but,  considering  it  could  be 
nothing  at  all,  I  thought  I  might  as  well  take  a  small 
dram,  as  the  night  was  rather  chilly,  and  I  began  to 
tremble  a  little  with  the  cold.  I  took  but  a  drop,  as  1 
am  a  living  sinner,  and  then  went  on  quite  gayly ;  but 
pat,  pat,  pat,  went  the  footsteps,  ten  times  louder  and 
faster  than  ever.  And  then !,  then  I  looked  back,  and 
saw  a  pair  of  saucer-eyes  just  at  the  tail  of  my  wagon, 
as  big  and  as  bright  as  the  mouths  of  a  fiery  furnace, 
dancing  up  and  down  in  the  air  like  two  stage-lamps 
in  a  rutty  road. 

"  By  gosh,  boys,  but  you  may  depend  I  was  scared 
now !  I  took  another  little  dram,  and  then  made  the 
whip  fly  about  the  ears  of  old  Pepper  and  Billy,  who 
cantered  away  at  a  wonderful  rate,  considering.  Pres 
ently,  bang!  something  heavy  jumped  into  the  wagon, 
as  if  heaven  and  earth  were  coming  together.  I 
looked  over  my  shoulder,  and  the  great  burning  eyes 
were  within  half  a  yard  of  my  back.  The  creature 
was  so  close  that  I  felt  its  breath  blowing  upon  me, 
and  it  smelled  for  all  one  exactly  like  brimstone.  I 
should  have  jumped  out  of  the  wagon,  but,  somehow 
or  other,  I  could  not  stir,  for  I  was  bewitched  as  sure  as 


298  COBUS   YERKS. 

you  live.  All  I  could  do  was  to  thrash  away  at  Pep 
per  and  Billy,  who  rattled  along  at  a  great  rate  up 
hill  and  down,  over  the  rough  roads,  so  that  if  1  had 
not  been  bewitched  I  must  have  tumbled  out  to  a 
certainty.  When  I  came  to  the  bridge,  at  old  Mang- 
ham's,  the  black  dog,  (for  I  could  see  something  black 
and  shaggy  under  the  goggle  eyes),  all  at  once  jumped 
up,  and,  seating  himself  close  by  me  on  the  bench, 
snatched  the  whip  and  reins  out  of  my  hands  like 
lightning.  Then,  looking  me  in  the  face  and  nod 
ding,  he  whispered  something  in  my  ear,  and  put 
it  into  Pepper  and  Billy,  till  they  seemed  to  fly 
through  the  air.  From  that  time  I  began  to  lose  my 
wits  by  degrees,  till  at  last  the  smell  of  brimstone 
overpowered  me,  and  I  remember  nothing  till  you 
found  me  this  morning  in  the  briars." 

Here  little  Cobus  concluded  his  story,  which  he  re 
peated,  with  several  variations  and  additions,  to  his 
wife,  when  he  got  home.  That  good  woman,  who, 
on  most  occasions,  took  the  liberty  of  lecturing  her 
good  man  whenever  he  used  to  be  belated  in  his  ex 
cursions  to  the  village,  was  so  struck  with  this  adven 
ture,  that  she  omitted  her  usual  exhortation,  and  ever 
afterwards  viewed  him  as  one  ennobled  by  supernat 
ural  communication,  submitting  to  him  as  her  verita 
ble  lord  and  master.  Some  people,  who  pretend  to 
be  so  wise  that  they  won't  believe  the  evidence  of 
their  senses  when  it  contradicts  their  reason,  affected 
to  be  incredulous,  and  hinted  that  the  goggle-eyes 
and  the  brimstone  breath  appertained  to  Cobus 
Yerks's  great  house-dog,  which  had  certainly  followed 
him  that  day  to  the  village,  and  was  found  quietly  re 
posing  by  his  master,  in  the  tuft  of  briars.  But  Cobus 


COBUS   YERKS.  299 

was  ever  exceedingly  wroth  at  this  suggestion,  and, 
being  a  sturdy  little  bruiser,  had  knocked  down  one  or 
two  of  these  unbelieving  sinners,  for  venturing  to  assert 
that  the  contents  of  the  stone  jug  were  at  the  bottom 
of  the  whole  business.  After  that,  everybody  believed 
it,  and  it  is  now  for  ever  incorporated  with  the  marvel 
lous  legends  of  the  renewed  Buttermilk  Hill. 


.          - '  4  .    -  ' 
. 


THE 


RIDE    OF    SAINT    NICHOLAS 


ON 


NEW-YEAR'S    EVE. 


THE 


EIDE   OF  SAINT  NICHOLAS 


ON 


NEW-YEAR'S   EYE. 


OF  all  the  cities  in  this  New  World,  that  which  once 
bore  the  name  of  Fort  Orange  *  but  bears  it  no  more 
is  the  favourite  of  the  good  St.  Nicholas.  It  is  there 
that  he  hears  the  sound  of  his  native  language,  and 
sees  the  honest  Dutch  pipe  in  the  mouths  of  a  few 
portly  burghers,  who,  disdaining  the  pestilent  innova 
tions  of  modern  times,  still  cling  with  honest  obsti 
nacy  to  the  dress,  the  manners,  and  customs,  of  old 
faderland.  It  is  there,  too,  that  they  have  instituted 
a  society  in  honour  of  the  excellent  saint,  whose  birth 
day  they  celebrate  in  a  manner  worthy  of  all  com 
mendation. 

True  it  is,  that  the  city  of  his  affections  has  from 
time  to  time  committed  divers  great  offences,  which 
sorely  wounded  the  feelings  of  St.  Nicholas,  and 
almost  caused  him  to  withdraw  his  patronage  from 
its  backsliding  citizens.  First,  by  adopting  the  new- 

*  Albany. 


304  THE   RIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

fangled  style  of  beginning  the  year,  at  the  bidding  of 
the  old  lady  of  Babylon,  whereby  the  jolly  New-year 
was  so  jostled  oat  of  place  that  the  good  saint  scarcely 
knew  where  to  look  for  it.  Next,  they  essayed  them 
selves  to  learn  outlandish  tongues,  whereby  they 
gradually  sophisticated  their  own,  insomuch  that  he 
could  hardly  understand  them.  Thirdly,  they  did, 
from  time  to  time,  admit  into  their  churches  preach 
ings  and  singings  in  the  upstart  English  language, 
until  by  degrees  the  ancient  worship  became  adulter 
ated  in  such  a  manner  that  the  indignant  St.  Nicholas, 
when  he  first  witnessed  it,  did,  for  the  only  time  in  his 
life,  come  near  to  uttering  a  great  oath,  by  exclaim 
ing,  "  Wat  donderdag  is  dat  *  ?  "  Now  be  it  known 
that  had  he  said,  "  Wat  donder  is  dat  f ,"  it  would  have 
been  downright  swearing ;  so  you  see  what  a  narrow 
escape  he  had. 

Not  content  with  these  backslidings,  the  burghers 
of  Fort  Orange  —  a  pestilence  on  all  new  names  !  — 
suffered  themselves  by  degrees  to  be  corrupted  by  vari 
ous  modern  innovations,  under  the  mischievous  dis 
guise  of  improvements.  Forgetting  the  reverence  due 
to  their  ancestors,  who  eschewed  all  internal  improve 
ment  except  that  of  the  mind  and  heart,  they  departed 
from  the  venerable  customs  of  the  faderland ;  and, 
pulling  down  the  old  houses  that,  scorning  all  appear 
ance  of  ostentation,  modestly  presented  the  little  end 
to  the  street,  began  to  erect  in  their  places  certain 
indescribable  buildings,  with  the  broadsides  as  it 

*  Bonder  en  Bliksem  !  —  Thunder  and  lightning !  — was  a  favorite  Dutch 
oath.  The  use  of  Donderdag — Thursday  —  corresponds  to  "darn"  for 
"damn." 

t  "  What  the  thunder  does  that  mean  ?  " 


THE   RIDE    OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  305 

were  turned  frontwise,  by  which  strange  contortion 
the  comeliness  of  Fort  Orange  was  utterly  destroyed. 
It  is  on  record  that  a  heavy  judgment  fell  upon 
the  head  of  the  first  man  who  adventured  on  this 
daring  innovation.  His  money  gave  out  before  this 
monstrous  novelty  was  completed,  and  he  invented 
the  pernicious  system  of  borrowing  and  mortgaging, 
before  happily  unknown  among  these  worthy  citizens, 
who  were  utterly  confounded,  not  long  afterwards,  at 
seeing  the  house  change  its  owner  —  a  thing  that  had 
never  happened  before  in  that  goodly  community, 
save  when  the  son  entered  on  the  inheritance  of  his 
father. 

Becoming  gradually  more  incorrigible  in  their  apos 
tasy,  they  were  seduced  into  opening,  widening,  and 
regulating  the  streets;  making  the  crooked  straight 
and  the  narrow  wide,  thereby  causing  sad  inroads  into 
the  strong  boxes  of  divers  of  the  honest  burghers, 
who  became  all  at  once  very  rich,  saving  that  they  had 
no  money  to  go  to  market.  To  cap  the  climax  of 
their  enormities,  they  at  last  committed  the  egregious 
sacrilege  of  pulling  down  the  ancient  and  honourable 
Dutch  church,  which  stood  right  in  the  middle  of 
State  street,  or  Staats  street,  being  so  called  after  the 
family  of  that  name,  from  which  I  am  lineally  de 
scended. 

At  this  the  good  St.  Nicholas  was  exceedingly 
grieved ;  and  when,  by  degrees,  his  favourite  burghers 
left  off  eating  sturgeon,  being  thereto  instigated  by 
divers  scurvy  jests  of  certain  silly  strangers  that  knew 
not  the  excellence  of  that  savoury  fish,  he  cried  out  in 
the  anguish  of  his  spirit,  "  Onbegrypelyk  I  "• —  "  Incredi 
ble  ! ",  meaning  thereby  that  he  qould  scarcely  believe 

20 


306  THE    RIDE    OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

his  eyes.  In  the  bitterness  of  his  soul  he  had  resolved 
to  return  to  faderland,  and  leave  his  beloved  city  to 
be  swallowed  up  in  the  vortex  of  improvement.  He 
was  making  his  progress  through  the  streets  in  melan 
choly  mood,  to  take  his  last  farewell,  when  he  came 
to  the  outlet  of  the  Grand  Canal,  just  then  completed.* 
"  Is  liet  mogelyk  ?  "  —  which  means,  Is  it  possible  ?  — 
exclaimed  St.  Nicholas ;  and  thereupon  he  was  so 
delighted  with  this  proof  that  his  beloved  people  had 
not  altogether  degenerated  from  their  ancestors,  that 
he  determined  not  to  leave  them  to  strange  saints, 
outlandish  tongues,  and  modern  innovations.  He 
took  a  sail  on  the  canal,  and  returned  in  such  meas 
ureless  content,  that  he  blessed  the  good  city  of  Fort 
Orange  as  he  evermore  called  it,  and  resolved  to  dis 
tribute  a  more  than  usual  store  of  his  New-year  cook 
ies,  at  the  Christmas  holydays.  That  jovial  season 
was  now  fast  approaching.  The  autumn  frosts  had 
already  invested  the  forests  with  a  mantle  of  glory ; 
the  farmers  were  in  their  fields  and  orchards,  gather 
ing  in  the  corn  and  apples,  or  making  cider,  the 
wholesome  beverage  of  virtuous  simplicity  ;  the  robins, 
blackbirds,  and  all  the  annual  emigrants  to  southern 
climes,  had  passed  away  in  flocks,  like  the  adventur 
ers  to  the  far  West,  the  bluebird  alone  lingering  to  sing 
his  parting  song;  and  sometimes,  of  a  morning,  the 
river  showed  a  little  fretted  border  of  ice,  looking  like  a 
fringe  of  lace  on  the  garment  of  some  decayed  dow 
ager.  At  length  the  liquid  glass  of  the  river  cooled 
into  a  wide,  immovable  mirror,  glistening  in  the  sun  ; 
the  trees,  all  save  the  evergreens,  stood  bare  to  the 

*  The  first  boat  passed  though  the  Erie  Canal  to  the  Hudson  river  on  the 
4th  of  November,  1825. 


THE   RIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  307 

keen  winds;  the  fields  were  covered  with  snow, 
affording  no  lures  to  tempt  to  rural  wanderings ;  the 
pleasures  of  men  gradually  centred  themselves  in  the 
chimney-corner:  —  it  was  winter,  and  New-year's  eve 
was  come  again. 

The  night  was  clear,  calm,  and  cold,  and  the  bright 
stars  glittered  in  the  heavens,  in  such  multitudes  that 
every  man  might  have  had  a  star  to  himself.  The 
worthy  patriarchs  of  Fort  Orange,  having  gathered 
around  them  their  children,  and  children's  children, 
even  unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation,  were  dis 
porting  themselves  in  innocent  revelry  at  the  cheerful 
fireside.  All  the  enjoyments  of  life  had  contracted 
themselves  into  the  domestic  circle ;  the  streets  were 
as  quiet  as  a  church-yard,  and  not  even  the  stroke  of 
the  watchman  was  heard  on  the  curb-stone.  Gradu 
ally  it  waxed  late,  and  the  city  clocks  rang,  in  the 
silence  of  night,  the  hour  which  not  one  of  the  orderly 
citizens  had  heard,  except  at  mid-day,  since  the  last 
anniversary  of  the  happy  New-year,  unless  peradven- 
ture  troubled  with  a  toothache,  or  some  such  unseemly 
irritation. 

The  doleful  warning,  which  broke  upon  the  frosty 
air  like  the  tolling  of  a  funeral  bell,  roused  the  sober 
devotees  of  St.  Nicholas  to  a  sense  of  their  trespasses 
on  the  waning  night ;  and,  after  one  good,  smoking 
draught  of  spiced  Jamaica  to  the  patron  saint,  they, 
one  and  all,  young  and  old,  hied  them  to  bed,  that  he 
might  have  a  fair  opportunity  to  bestow  his  favours 
without  being  seen  by  mortal  eye.  For  be  it  known, 
that  St.  Nicholas,  like  all  really  heart-whole  generous 
fellows,  loves  to  do  good  in  secret,  and  eschews  those 
pompous  benefactions  which  are  duly  recorded  in  the 


308  THE   RIDE   OF    SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

newspapers,  being  of  opinion  they  only  prove  that 
the  vanity  of  man  is  sometimes  an  overmatch  for  his 
avarice. 

Having  allowed  them  fifteen  minutes,  (which  is  as 
much  as  a  sober  burgher  of  good  morals  and  habits 
requires),  to  get  as  fast  asleep  as  a  church,  St.  Nicho 
las,  having  harnessed  his  pony,  and  loaded  his  little 
wagon  with  a  store  of  good  things  for  well-behaved, 
diligent  children,  together  with  whips  and  other  me 
mentos  for  undutiful  varlets,  did  set  forth  gayly  on 
his  errand  of  benevolence. 

VILUT  en  vlammen!  how  the  good  saint  did  hurry 
through  the  streets,  up  one  chimney  and  down 
another;  for,  as  I  do  live,  they  are  not  such  miserable 
narrow  things  as  those  of  other  cities,  where  the 
claims  of  ostentation  are  so  voracious  that  people 
can't  afford  to  keep  up  good  fires,  and  the  chimneys 
are  so  narrow  that  the  little  sweeps  of  seven  years  old 
often  get  themselves  stuck  fast,  to  the  imminent  peril 
of  their  lives.  You  may  think  he  had  a  good  deal  of 
business  on  hand,  being  obliged  to  visit  every  house 
in  Fort  Orange,  between  twelve  o'clock  and  daylight, 
save  indeed  those  of  some  few  would-be  fashionable 
upstarts,  who  had  mortally  offended  him,  by  turning 
up  their  noses  at  the  simple  jollifications  and  friendly 
greetings  of  the  merry  New-year.  Accordingly,  he 
rides  like  the  wind,  scarcely  touching  the  ground ;  and 
this  is  the  reason  that  he  is  never  seen,  except  by  a 
rare  chance,  which  is  the  cause  why  certain  unbeliev 
ing  sinners,  who  scoff  at  old  customs  and  notions, 
either  really  do,  or  pretend  to,  doubt,  whether  the 
good  things  found  on  Christmas  and  New-year  morn 
ings  in  the  stockings  of  the  little  varlets  of  Fort 


THE   RIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  309 

Orange  and  Nieuw  Amsterdam,  are  put  there  by  the 
jolly  St.  Nicholas  or  not.  Beshrew  them,  say  I  — 
and  may  they  never  taste  the  blessing  of  his  bounty ! 
Goeden  Hem-el*  !t  as  if  I  myself,  being  a  kinsman  of 
the  saint,  don't  know  him  as  well  as  a  debtor  does  his 
creditor!  But  people  are  grown  so  wise  nowadays, 
that  they  believe  in  nothing  but  the  increased  value 
of  property. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  St.  Nicholas  went  forth  blithely 
on  his  kindly  errand,  without  minding  the  intense 
cold,  for  he  was  kept  right  warm  by  the  benevolence 
of  his  heart ;  and,  when  that  failed,  he  ever  and  anon 
addressed  himself  to  a  snug  little  pottle,  the  contents 
of  which  did  smoke  lustily  when  he  pulled  out  the 
stopper,  a  piece  of  snow-white  corn-cob. 

It  is  impossible  for  me  to  specify  one  by  one  the 
visits  paid  that  night  by  the  good  saint,  or  the  various 
adventures  which  he  encountered.  I  therefore  content 
myself,  and,  I  trust,  my  worthy  and  excellent  readers, 
with  dwelling  briefly  on  those  which  appear  to  me 
most  worthy  of  descending  to  posterity,  and  that 
withal  convey  excellent  moral  lessons,  without  which 
history  is  naught,  whether  it  be  true  or  false. 

After  visiting  various  honest  little  Dutch  houses 
with  notched  roofs  and  the  gable  ends  to  the  street, 
leaving  his  benedictions,  St.  Nicholas  at  length  came 
to  a  goodly  mansion  bearing  strong  marks  of  being 
sophisticated  by  modern  fantastic  caprices.  He  would 
have  passed  it  by  in  scorn,  had  he  not  remembered 
that  it  belonged  to  a  descendant  of  one  of  his  favoured 
votaries,  who  had  passed  away  to  his  long  home  with 
out  having  once  backslided  from  the  customs  of  his 

*  Good  Heavens ! 


310  THE   RIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

ancestors.  Respect  for  the  memory  of  this  worthy 
man  wrought  upon  his  feelings,  and  he  forthwith 
dashed  down  the  chimney,  where  he  stuck  fast  in 
the  middle,  and  came  nigh  being  suffocated  with  the 
fumes  of  anthracite  coal,  which  this  degenerate  de 
scendant  of  a  pious  ancestor,  who  spent  thousands  in 
useless  and  unbecoming  ostentation,  burned  by  way 
of  economy. 

If  the  excellent  saint  had  not  been  enveloped,  as  it 
were,  in  the  odour  of  sanctity,  which  in  some  measure 
protected  him  from  the  poison  of  this  pestilent  vapour, 
it  might  have  gone  hard  with  him  ;  as  it  was,  he  was 
sadly  bewildered,  when  his  little  pony,  which  liked  the 
predicament  no  better  than  his  master,  made  a  violent 
plunge,  drew  the  wagon  through  the  narrow  passage, 
and  down  they  came  plump  into  a  magnificent 
bedchamber,  filled  with  all  sorts  of  finery  —  such  as 
wardrobes,  bedizened  with  tawdry  ornaments ;  satin 
chairs  too  good  to  be  looked  at  or  sat  upon,  and 
therefore  covered  with  brown  linen ;  a  bedstead  of 
varnished  mahogany,  with  a  canopy  over  it  somewhat 
like  a  cocked-hat,  with  a  plume  of  ostrich  feathers 
instead  of  orthodox  valances,  and  the  like ;  and  a 
looking-glass  large  enough  to  reflect  a  Dutch  city. 

St.  Nicholas  contemplated  the  pair  who  slept  in 
this  newfangled  abomination,  with  a  mingled  feeling 
of  pity  and  indignation,  though  I  must  say  the  wife 
looked  very  pretty  in  her  lace  nightcap,  with  one  arm 
as  white  as  snow  partly  uncovered.  But  he  soon 
turned  away,  being  a  devout  and  self-denying  saint, 
to  seek  for  the  stockings  of  the  little  children,  who 
were  innocent  of  these  unseemly  innovations.  But 
what  was  his  horror  at  finding  that,  instead  of  being 


THE   HIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  311 

hung  up  in  the  chimney-corner,  they  were  thrown 
carelessly  on  the  floor,  and  that  the  little  souls,  who 
lay  asleep  in  each  other's  arms  in  another  room,  lest 
they  should  disturb  their  parents,  were  thus  deprived 
of  all  the  pleasant  anticipations  accompanying  the 
approaching  jolly  New-year. 

"  Een  vervlocte  jonge !  ",*  said  he  to  himself,  (for  he 
never  uttered  his  maledictions  aloud) ;  "  to  rob  his  little 
ones  of  such  wholesome  and  innocent  delights!  But 
they  shall  not  be  disappointed."  So  he  sought  the 
cold  and  distant  chamber  of  the  children,  who  were 
virtuous  and  dutiful,  and,  when  they  waked  in  the 
morning,  they  found  the  bed  covered  with  good  things, 
and  were  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long.  St.  Nicholas 
returned  to  the  splendid  chamber,  which,  be  it  known, 
was  furnished  with  the  spoils  of  industrious  unfortu 
nate  people,  to  whom  the  owner  lent  money,  charging 
them  so  much  the  more  in  proportion  to  their  necessi 
ties.  It  is  true  that  he  gave  some  of  the  wealth  he 
thus  got  over  the  duyvel's  back,  as  it  were,  to  public 
charities,  and  sometimes  churches,  when  he  knew  it 
would  get  into  the  newspapers,  by  which  he  obtained 
the  credit  of  being  very  pious  and  charitable.  But  St. 
Nicholas  was  too  sensible  and  judicious  not  to  know 
that  the  only  charitable  and  pious  donations  agree 
able  to  the  Giver  of  all  are  those  which  are  honestly 
come  by.  The  alms  which  are  got  by  ill  means  can 
never  come  to  good,  and  it  is  better  to  give  back  to 
those  from  whom  we  have  taken  it  dishonestly,  even 
one  fourth,  yea,  one  tenth,  than  to  bestow  ten  times  as 
much  on  those  who  have  no  such  claim.  The  true 
atonement  for  injuries  is  that  made  to  the  injured. 

*  An  accursed  boy ! 


312  THE   RIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

All  other  is  a  cheat  in  the  eye  of  Heaven.  You  can 
not  settle  the  account,  by  giving  to  Peter  what  you 
have  niched  from  Paul. 

So  thought  the  good  St.  Nicholas,  as  he  revolved  in 
his  mind  a  plan  for  punishing  this  degenerate  caitiff, 
who  despised  his  ordinances  and  customs,  and  was 
moreover  one  who,  in  dealing  with  borrowers,  not 
only  shaved  but  skinned  them.  Remembering  not 
the  perils  of  the  chimney,  he  was  about  departing  the 
way  he  came,  but  the  little  pony  obstinately  refused ; 
and  the  good  saint,  having  first  taken  off  the  lace  night 
cap,  and  put  a  fool's-cap  in  its  place,  and  given  the 
money-lender  a  tweak  of  the  nose  that  made  him  roar, 
whipped  instantly  through  the  key-hole,  to  pursue  his 
benevolent  tour  through  the  ancient  city  of  Fort  Orange. 

Gliding  through  the  streets  unheard  and  unseen,  he 
at  length  came  to  a  winding  lane,  from  which  his 
quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  obstreperous  revelry. 
Stopping  his  pony,  and  listening  more  attentively,  he 
distinguished  the  words,  "  Ich  ben  liederich"  *  roared 
out  in  a  chorus  of  mingled  voices  seemingly  issuing 
from  a  little  low  house  of  the  true  orthodox  construc 
tion,  standing  on  the  right-hand  side,  at  a  distance  of 
a  hundred  yards,  or  thereabout. 

"  Wat  donderdag ! "  exclaimed  St.  Nicholas  ;  "  is 
mine  old  friend,  Baltus  Van  Loon,  keeping  it  up  at 
this  time  of  the  morning?  The  old  rogue!  —  but  I'll 
punish  him  for  this  breach  of  the  good  customs  of 
Fort  Orange."  So  he  halted  on  the  top  of  Baltus's 
chimney,  to  consider  the  best  way  of  bringing  it 
about,  and  was,  all  at  once,  saluted  in  the  nostrils  by 

*  This  seems  to  be  corrupted  German.  Ich  ben  —  I  am  —  UederUch,  a 
careless  dog  —  or,  liedcrreick,  say,  a  jolly  singer. 


THE   RIDE    OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  313 

such  a  delectable  perfume,  arising  from  a  certain 
spiced  beverage  with  which  the  substantial  burghers 
were  wont  to  recreate  themselves  at  this  season  of  the 
year,  that  he  was  sorely  tempted  to  join  a  little  in  the 
revelry  below,  and  punish  the  merry  caitiffs  after 
wards.  Presently  he  heard  honest  Baltus  propose  — 
"  The  jolly  St.  Nicholas  !,"  as  a  toast,  which  was  drunk 
in  a  full  bumper,  with  great  rejoicing  and  acclamation. 

St.  Nicholas  could  stand  it  no  longer,  but  descended 
forthwith  into  the  little  parlour  of  old  Baltus,  think 
ing,  by  the  way,  that,  just  to  preserve  appearances,  he 
would  lecture  the  roistering  rogues  a  little  for  keeping 
such  late  hours ;  and  then,  provided  Baltus  could  give 
a  good  reason,  or  indeed  any  reason  at  all,  for  such 
an  indecorous  transgression,  he  would  sit  down  with 
them,  a-nd  take  some  of  the  savoury  tipple  that  had 
regaled  his  nostrils  while  waiting  at  the  top  of  the 
chimney. 

The  vapouring  varlets  were  so  busy  roaring  out, 
"  Ich  ben  liederich"  that  they  did  not  take  note  of  the 
presence  of  the  saint,  until  he  cried  with  a  loud  and 
angry  voice,  "  Wat  blikslager  is  dat  ?  "  *  —  (he  did  not 
say  blixem^,  because  that  would  have  been  liitle  bet 
ter  than  swearing)  — "  Ben  je  be  dondered^  to  be 
carousing  here  at  this  time  of  night,  ye  ancient,  and 
not  venerable  sinners  !  " 

Old  Baltus  was  not  a  little  startled  at  the  intrusion 
of  the  strangers  —  for,  if  the  truth  must  out,  he  was 
a  little  in  for  it,  and  saw  double,  as  is  usual  at  such 
times.  This  caused  such  a  confusion  in  his  head  that 

*  "  What  the  tinman  does  this  mean?  "  f  Lightning. 

J  "  Are  you  be-thundered  ?  "  or,'1  What  the  Old  Scratch  have  you  got  in 
you?" 


314  THE   RIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

he  forgot  to  rise  from  his  seat  and  pay  due  honour  to 
his  visitor,  as  did  the  rest  of  the  company. 

"  Are  you  not  ashamed  of  yourselves,"  continued 
the  saint,  "  to  set  such  a  bad  example  to  the  neigh 
bourhood,  by  carousing  at  this  time  of  the  morning, 
contrary  to  good  old  customs,  known  and  accepted  by 
all,  except  such  noisy  splutterkins  as  yourselves  ?  " 

"  This  time  of  the  morning,"  —  replied  old  Baltus, 
who  had  his  full  portion  of  Dutch  courage  —  "this 
time  of  the  morning,  did  you  say  ?  Look  yonder, 
and  see  with  your  own  eyes  whether  it  is  morning  or 
not." 

The  cunning  rogue,  in  order  to  have  a  good  excuse 
for  transgressing  the  canons  of  St.  Nicholas,  had  so 
managed  it,  that  the  old  clock  in  the  corner  had  run 
down,  and  now  pointed  to  the  hour  of  eleven,  where 
it  remained  stationary,  like  a  rusty  weathercock.  St. 
Nicholas  knew  this  as  well  as  old  Baltus  himself,  and 
could  not  help  being  mightily  tickled  at  this  device. 
He  told  Baltus  that,  this  being  the  case,  with  permis 
sion  of  his  host  he  would  sit  down  by  the  fire  and 
warm  himself,  till  it  was  time  to  set  forth  again,  see 
ing  he  had  mistaken  the  hour. 

Baltus,  who  by  this  time  began  to  perceive  that 
there  was  but  one  visitor  instead  of  two,  now  rose 
from  the  table  with  much  ado,  and,  approaching  the 
stranger,  besought  him  to  take  a  seat  among  the  jolly 
revellers,  seeing  they  were  there  assembled  in  honour 
of  St.  Nicholas,  and  not  out  of  any  regard  to  the  lusts 
of  the  flesh.  In  this  he  was  joined  by  the  rest  of  the 
company,  so  that  St.  Nicholas,  being  a  good-natured 
fellow,  at  length  suffered  himself  to  be  persuaded, 
whereto  he  was  mightily  incited  by  the  savoury  fumes 


THE   RIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  315 

issuing  from  a  huge  pitcher  standing  smoking  in  the 
chimney-corner.  So  he  sat  down  with  old  Baltus, 
and,  being  called  on  for  a  toast,  gave  them  "  Old 
Faderland"  in  a  bumper. 

Then  they  had  a  high  time  of  it,  you  may  be  sure. 
Old  Baltus  sung  a  famous  song  celebrating  the  valour 
of  our  Dutch  ancestors,  and  their  triumph  over  the 
mighty  power  of  Spain  after  a  struggle  of  more  than 
a  generation,  in  which  the  meads  of  Holland  smoked, 
and  her  canals  were  red,  with  blood.  Goeden  Hemell 
•but  I  should  like  to  have  been  there,  for  I  hope  it 
would  have  been  nothing  discreditable  for  one  of  my 
cloth  to  have  joined  in  chorus  with  the  excellent  St. 
Nicholas.  Then  they  talked  about  the  good  old 
times,  when  the  son  who  departed  from  the  customs 
of  his  ancestors  was  considered  little  better  than  mis 
begotten  ;  lamented  over  the  interloping  of  such  mul 
titudes  of  idle  flaunting  men  and  women  in  their  way 
to  and  from  the  Springs ;  the  increase  of  taverns,  the 
high  price  of  everything,  and  the  manifold  transgres 
sions  of  the  rising  generation.  Ever  and  anon,  old 
Baltus  would  observe  that  sorrow  was  as  dry  as  a 
corn-cob,  and  pour  out  a  full  bumper  of  the  smoking 
beverage,  until  at  last  it  came  to  pass  that  the  honest 
man  and  his  worthy  companions,  being  unused  to 
such  late  hours,  fell  fast  asleep  in  their  goodly  arm 
chairs,  and  snored  lustily  in  concert.  "Whereupon  St. 
Nicholas,  feeling  a  little  waggish,  after  putting  their 
wigs  the  hinder  part  before,  and  placing  a  great  China 
bowl  upsidedown  on  the  head  of  old  Baltus,  who  sat 
nodding  like  a  mandarin,  departed,  laughing  ready  to 
split  his  sides.  In  the  morning,  when  Baltus  and  his 
companions  awoke,  and  saw  what  a  figure  they  cut, 


316  THE   RIDE    OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

they  all  laid  the  trick  to  the  door  of  the  stranger,  and 
never  knew  to  the  last  day  of  their  lives  who  it  was 
that  caroused  with  them  so  lustily  on  New-year's 
morning. 

Pursuing  his  way  in  high  good-humour,  being 
somewhat  exhilarated  by  the  set-to  with  old  Baltus 
and  his  roistering  companions,  St.  Nicholas  in  good 
time  came  into  the  ancient  Colonie,  which,  being  as  it 
were  at  the  outskirts  of  Fort  Orange,  was  inhabited 
by  many  people  not  well-to-do  in  the  world.  He  de 
scended  the  chimney  of  an  old  weather-worn  house 
that  bore  evident  marks  of  poverty,  for  he  is  not  one 
of  those  saints  that  hanker  after  palaces  and  turn 
their  backs  on  their  friends.  It  is  his  pleasure  to  seek 
out  and  administer  to  the  innocent  gratifications  of 
those  who  are  obliged  to  labour  all  the  year  round, 
and  who  can  only  spare  time  to  be  merry  at  Christ 
mas  and  New-year.  He  is  indeed  the  poor  man's 
saint. 

On  entering  the  room,  he  was  struck  with  the  ap 
pearance  of  poverty  and  desolation  that  reigned  all 
around.  A  number  of  little  children  of  different  ages, 
but  none  more  than  ten  years  old,  lay  huddled  close 
together  on  a  straw-bed,  which  was  on  the  floor,  their 
limbs  intertwined  to  keep  themselves  warm,  for  their 
covering  was  scant  and  miserable.  Yet  they  slept  in 
peace,  and  had  quiet  countenances;  for  hunger  seeks 
refuge  in  the  oblivion  of  repose.  In  a  corner  of  trie 
room  stood  a  forlorn  bed,  on  which  lay  a  female, 
whose  face,  as  the  moonbeams  fell  upon  it  through  a 
window  without  shutters,  many  panes  of  which  were 
stuffed  with  old  rags  to  keep  out  the  nipping  air  of 
the  winter  night,  bore  evidence  of  long  and  painful 


THE   RIDE   OF    SAINT   NICHOLAS.  317 

suffering.  It  looked  like  death  rather  than  sleep.  A 
small  pine  table,  a  few  broken  chairs,  and  a  dresser, 
whose  shelves  were  ill  supplied,  made  up  the  furniture 
of  this  mansion  of  poverty. 

As  he  stood  contemplating  the  scene,  his  honest  old 
heart  swelled  with  sorrowful  compassion,  saying  to 
himself,  "  God  bewaar  ous  /,*  but  this  is  pitiful."  At 
that  moment,  a  little  child  on  the  straw-bed  cried  out 
in  a  weak  voice  that  went  to  the  heart  of  the  saint, 
"  Mother,  mother,  give  me  to  eat  —  I  am  hungry."  St. 
Nicholas  went  to  the  child,  but  she  was  fast  asleep, 
and  hunger  had  infected  her  very  dreams.  The 
mother  did  not  hear,  for  long-continued  sorrow  and 
suffering  sleep  sounder  than  happiness,  as  the  waters 
lie  stillest  when  the  tempest  is  past. 

Again  the  little  child  cried  out,  "  Mother,  mother, 
I  am  freezing  —  give  me  some  more  covering."  "  Be 
quiet,  Blandina,"  answered  a  voice  deep  and  hoarse, 
yet  not  unkind ;  and  St.  Nicholas,  looking  around  to 
see  whence  it  came,  beheld  a  man,  sitting  close  in  the 
chimney-corner  though  there  was  no  fire  burning,  his 
arms  folded  close  around  him,  and  his  head  drooping 
on  his  bosom.  He  was  clad  like  one  of  the  children 
of  poverty,  and  his  teeth  chattered  with  cold.  St. 
Nicholas  wiped  his  eyes,  for  he  was  a  good-hearted 
saint,  and,  coming  close  up  to  the  wretched  man,  said 
to  him  kindly,  "  How  do  ye,  my  good  friend  ?  " 

"  Friend  ?,"  said  the  other  —  "  I  have  no  friend  but 
God,  and  He  seems  to  have  deserted  me."  As  he 
said  this,  he  raised  his  saddened  eyes  to  the  good 
saint,  and,  after  looking  at  him  a  little  while  as  if  he 
was  not  conscious  of  his  presence,  dropped  them 

*  God  preserve  us ! 


318  THE   EIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

again,  without  even  asking  who  he  was,  or  whence  he 
came,  or  what  he  wanted.  Despair  had  deadened 
his  faculties,  and  nothing  remained  in  his  mind  but 
the  consciousness  of  suffering. 

"  Het  is  jammer,  het  is  jammer  —  it  is  a  pity,  it  is  a 
pity ! "  quoth  the  kind-hearted  saint,  as  he  passed  his 
sleeve  across  his  eyes.  "  But  something  must  be  done, 
and  that  quickly  too."  So  he  shook  the  poor  man 
somewhat  roughly  by  the  shoulder,  and  cried  out, 
"  Ho !  ho !  what  aileth  thee,  son  of  my  good  old  friend, 
honest  Johannes  Garrebrantze  ?  " 

This  salutation  seemed  to  rouse  the  almost  lifeless 
figure,  which  then  unsteadily  arose,  and,  essaying  to 
stand  upright,  fell  into  the  arms  of  St.  Nicholas,  who 
almost  believed  it  was  a  lump  of  ice,  so  cold  and  stiff 
did  it  seem.  Now,  be  it  known  that  Providence,  as  a 
reward  for  his  benevolent  disposition,  has  bestowed 
on  St.  Nicholas  the  privilege  of  doing  good  without 
measure  to  all  who  are  deserving  of  his  bounty,  and 
this  by  such  means  as  he  thinks  proper  to  the  pur 
pose.  It  is  a  power  he  seldom  exerts  to  the  utter 
most,  except  on  pressing  occasions,  and  this  he  believed 
one  of  them. 

Perceiving  that  the  hapless  being  was  wellnigh  fro 
zen  to  death,  he  called  into  action  the  supernatural 
faculties  which  had  been  committed  to  him,  and  lo !, 
in  an  instant  a  rousing  fire  blazed  on  the  hearth, 
towards  which  the  meagre  wretch,  instinctively  as  it 
were,  edged  his  chair,  and  stretched  out  one  of  his 
bony  hands,  that  was  as  stiff  as  an  icicle.  The  light 
flashed  so  brightly  in  the  face  of  the  little  ones  and 
their  mother,  that  they  awoke ;  and,  seeing  the  cheer 
ful  blaze,  arose  in  their  miserable  clothing,  which  they 


THE   RIDE    OF    SAINT   NICHOLAS.  319 

had  worn  to  aid  in  keeping  them  warm,  and  hied  as 
fast  as  they  could  to  bask  in  its  blessed  cheer.  So 
eager  were  they,  that  for  a  while  they  were  uncon 
scious  of  the  presence  of  a  stranger,  although  St. 
Nicholas  had  now  assumed  his  proper  person,  that  he 
might  not  be  taken  for  some  one  of  those  diabolical 
wizards  who,  being  always  in  mischief,  are  ashamed 
to  show  their  faces  among  honest  people. 

At  length  the  poor  man,  who  was  called,  after  his 
father,  Johannes  Garrebrantze,  being  somewhat  re 
vived  by  the  genial  warmth  of  the  fire,  looked  around, 
and  became  aware  of  the  presence  of  the  stranger. 
This  inspired  him  with  a  secret  awe,  for  which  he 
could  not  account;  insomuch  that  his  voice  trembled, 
though  now  he  was  not  cold,  when,  after  some  hesita 
tion,  he  said:  — 

"  Stranger,  thou  art  welcome  to  this  naked  house. 
I  would  I  were  better  able  to  offer  thee  the  hospitali 
ties  of  the  season,  but  I  will  wish  thee  a  happy  New- 
year,  and  that  is  all  I  can  bestow."  The  good  yffrouw, 
his  wife,  repeated  the  wish,  and  straightway  began  to 
apologize  for  the  untidy  state  of  her  apartment. 

"  Make  no  apologies,"  replied  the  excellent  saint ; 
"  I  come  to  give,  not  to  receive.  To-night  I  treat,  to 
morrow  you  may  return  the  kindness  to  others." 

"  I  ?  "  said  Johannes  Garrebrantze  ;  "  I  have  nothing 
to  bestow  but  good  wishes,  and  nothing  to  receive  but 
the  scorn  and  neglect  of  the  world.  If  I  had  any 
thing  to  give  thee  to  eat  or  drink,  thou  shouldst  have 
it  with  all  my  heart.  But  the  new  year,  which  brings 
jollity  to  the  hearts  of  others,  brings  nothing  but  hun 
ger  and  despair  to  me  and  mine." 

"  Thou  hast  seen  better  days,  I  warrant  thee,"  an- 


320  THE   EIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

swered  the  saint ;  "  for  thou  speakest  like  a  scholar  of 
Leyden.  Tell  me  thy  story,  Johannes,  my  son,  and 
we  shall  see  whether  in  good  time  thou  wilt  not  hold 
up  thy  head  as  high  as  a  church-steeple." 

"  Alas !  to  what  purpose,  since  man  assuredly  has, 
and  Heaven  seems  to  have,  forsaken  me  ? " 

"Hush!"  cried  St.  Nicholas;  "Heaven  never  for 
sakes  the  broken  spirit,  or  turns  a  deaf  ear  to  the  cries 
of  innocent  children.  It  is  for  the  wicked  never  to 
hope,  the  virtuous  never  to  despair.  I  predict  thou 
shalt  live  to  see  better  days." 

"  I  must  see  them  soon  then,  for  I,  my  wife,  and 
my  children,  have  been  without  food  since  twenty-four 
hours  past." 

"  What !  God  be  with  us !  is  there  such  lack  of 
charity  in  the  burghers  of  the  Colonie,  that  they  will 
suffer  a  neighbour  to  starve  under  their  very  noses  ? 
Onbegrypdyk !  —  I'll  not  believe  it." 

"  They  know  not  my  necessities." 

"  No  ?  What !  —  hast  thou  no  tongue  to  speak 
them  ?  " 

"  I  am  too  proud  to  beg." 

"  And  too  lazy  to  work,"  cried  St.  Nicholas,  in  a 
severe  tone. 

"  Look  you,"  answered  the  other,  holding  up  his 
right  arm  with  his  left,  and  showing  that  the  sinews 
were  stiffened  by  rheumatism. 

"  Is  it  so,  my  friend  ?  Well,  but  thou  mightest  still 
have  bent  thy  spirit  to  ask  charity  for  thy  starving 
wife  and  children,  though,  in  truth,  begging  is  the  last 
thing  an  honest  man  ought  to  stoop  to.  But,  Goeden 
Hemel!,  here  am  I  talking,  while  thou  and  thine  are 
perishing  with  hunger." 


THE   RIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  321 

Saying  which,  St.  Nicholas  straightway  bade  the 
good  yffrouw  to  bring  forth  the  little  pine  table,  which 
she  did,  making  sundry  excuses  for  the  absence  of  a 
table-cloth;  and,  when  she  had  done  so,  he  inconti 
nently  spread  out  upon  it  such  store  of  good  things 
from  his  little  cart,  as  made  the  hungry  children's 
mouths  to  water,  and  smote  the  hearts  of  their  pa 
rents  with  joyful  thanksgivings.  "  Eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry,"  said  St.  Nicholas,  "  for  to-morrow  thou  shalt 
not  die,  but  live." 

The  heart  of  the  good  saint  expanded,  like  as  the 
morning-glory  does  to  the  first  rays  of  the  sun,  while 
he  sat  rubbing  his  hands  at  seeing  them  eat  with  such 
a  zest  as  made  him  almost  think  it  was  worth  while 
to  be  hungry,  in  order  to  enjoy  such  triumphant 
satisfaction.  When  they  had  done,  and  returned 
their  pious  thanks  to  Heaven  and  the  charitable 
stranger,  St.  Nicholas  willed  the  honest  man  to  ex 
pound  the  causes  which  had  brought  him  to  his  pres 
ent  deplorable  condition.  "  My  own  folly,"  said  he. 
And  the  other  sagely  replied,  —  "I  thought  as  much. 
Beshrew  me,  friend,  if  in  all  my  experience,  (and  I 
have  lived  long,  and  seen  much),  I  ever  encountered 
distress  and  poverty  that  could  not  be  traced  to  its 
source  in  folly  or  vice.  Heaven  is  too  bountiful  to 
entail  misery  on  its  creatures,  save  through  their 
own  transgressions.  But,  I  pray  thee,  go  on  with  thy 
story." 

The  good  man  then  went  on  to  relate  that  his 
father,  old  Johannes  Garrebrantze  — 

"  Ah ! ",  quoth  St.  Nicholas,  "  I  knew  him  well.  He 
was  an  honest  man,  and  that,  in  these  times  of  all 
sorts  of  improvements,  except  in  mind  and  morals,  is 

21 


322  THE   RIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

little  less  than  miraculous.  But  I  interrupt  thee, 
friend  —  proceed  with  thy  story,  once  more." 

The  son  of  Johannes  again  resumed  his  narration, 
and  related  how  his  father  had  left  him  a  competent 
estate  in  the  Golonie,  on  which  he  lived  in  good  credit, 
and  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  reasonable  competency,  with 
his  wife  and  children,  until  within  a  few  years  past, 
when,  seeing  a  vast  number  of  three-story  houses  with 
folding  doors  and  marble  mantel-pieces  rising  up  all 
around  him,  he  began  to  be  ashamed  of  his  little  one- 
story  house  with  the  gable  end  to  the  street,  and  — 

"Ah!  Johannes,"  interrupted  the  pale  wife,  "do 
not  spare  me.  It  was  I  that  in  the  vanity  of  my  heart 
put  such  notions  in  thy  head.  It  was  I  that  tempted 
thee." 

"  It  was  the  duyvel"  muttered  St.  Nicholas,  "  in  the 
shape  of  a  pretty  wife." 

Johannes  gave  his  helpmate  a  look  of  affectionate 
forgiveness,  and  went  on  to  tell  St.  Nicholas  how, 
egged  on  by  the  evil  example  of  his  neighbours,  he 
had  at  last  committed  sacrilege  against  his  household 
gods,  and  pulled  down  the  home  of  his  fathers,  com 
mencing  a  new  one  on  its  ruins. 

"Donderdag!"  quoth  the  saint  to  himself;  "and 
the  bricks  came  from  faderland,  too ! " 

When  Johannes  had  about  half  finished  his  new 
house,  he  discovered  one  day,  to  his  great  astonish 
ment  and  dismay,  that  all  his  money,  which  he  had 
been  saving  for  his  children,  was  gone.  His  strong 
box  was  empty,  and  his  house  but  half-finished,  al 
though,  after  estimating  the  cost,  he  had  allowed  one 
third  more  in  order  to  be  sure  in  the  business. 

Johannes  was  now  at  a  dead  stand.     The  idea  of 


THE   RIDE    OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  323 

borrowing  money  and  running  in  debt  never  entered 
his  head  before,  nor  would  have  entered  now,  had  it 
not  been  suggested  to  him  by  a  neighbour,  a  great 
speculator,  who  had  lately  built  a  whole  street  of 
houses,  not  a  single  brick  of  which  belonged  to  him 
in  reality.  He  had  borrowed  the  money,  mortgaged 
the  property,  and  expected  to  grow  rich  by  a  sudden 
rise.  Poor  Johannes  may  be  excused  for  listening  to 
the  seductions  of  this  lose!  varlet,  seeing  he  had  a 
house  half-finished  on  his  hands ;  he  did  listen,  and 
was  betrayed  into  borrowing  money  of  a  bank  just 
then  established  in  the  Colonie  on  a  capital  paid  in 
according  to  law  —  that  is,  not  paid  at  all — the  direc 
tors  of  which  were  very  anxious  to  exchange  their 
rags  for  lands  and  houses. 

Johannes  finished  his  house  in  glorious  style,  and, 
having  opened  this  new  mine  of  wealth,  furnished  it 
still  more  gloriously.  Moreover,  as  it  would  have 
been  sheer  nonsense  not  to  live  gloriously  in  such  a 
glorious  establishment,  he  spent  thrice  his  income  in 
order  to  keep  up  his  respectability.  He  was  going  on 
swimmingly,  when  what  is  called  a  reaction  took 
place ;  which  means,  as  far  as  I  can  understand,  that 
the  bank  directors,  having  been  pleased  to  make 
money  plenty  to  increase  their  dividends,  are  pleased 
thereafter  to  make  it  scarce  for  the  same  purpose. 
Instead  of  lending  it  in  the  name  of  the  bank,  it  is 
credibly  reported  they  do  it  through  certain  brokers, 
who  charge  lawful  interest  and  unlawful  commission, 
and  thus  cheat  the  law  with  a  clear  conscience.  But 
I  thank  Heaven  devoutly  that  I  know  nothing  of  their 
wicked  mysteries,  and  therefore  will  say  no  more 
about  them. 


324  THE   RIDE   OP   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  Johannes  was  called  upon  all  of 
a  sudden  to  pay  his  notes  to  the  bank,  for  the  reaction 
had  commenced,  and  there  were  no  more  renewals. 
The  directors  wanted  all  the  money,  to  lend  out  at 
three  per  cent,  a  month.  It  became  necessary  to  raise 
the  wind,  as  they  say  in  Wall  street,  and  Johannes,  by 
the  advice  of  his  good  friend  the  speculative  genius, 
went  with  him  to  a  certain  money-lender  of  his  ac 
quaintance,  who  was  reckoned  a  good  Christian, 
because  he  always  charged  most  usury  where  there 
was  the  greatest  necessity  for  a  loan.  To  a  rich  man 
he  would  lend  at  something  like  a  reasonable  interest, 
but  to  a  man  in  great  distress  for  money  he  showed 
about  as  much  mercy  as  a  weazel  does  to  a  chicken. 
He  sucked  their  blood  till  there  was  not  a  drop  left  in 
their  bodies.  This  he  did  six  days  in  the  week,  and 
on  the  seventh  went  three  times  to  church,  to  enable 
him  to  begin  on  Monday  in  a  Christian  spirit.  Out 
on  such  varlets,  I  say ;  they  bring  religion  itself  into 
disrepute,  and  add  the  sin  of  hypocrisy  to  men  to  that 
of  insult  to  Heaven. 

Suffice  it  to  say  that  poor  Johannes  Garrebrantze 
the  younger  went  down  hill  faster  than  he  ever  went 
up  in  his  life ;  and,  inasmuch  as  I  scorn  these  details 
of  petty  roguery  as  unworthy  of  my  cloth  and  call 
ing,  I  shall  content  myself  with  merely  premising 
that,  through  a  process  very  common  nowadays,  the 
poor  man  speedily  dissipated  all  the  patrimony  left 
him  by  his  worthy  father  in  paying  commission  to  the 
money-lender.  He  finally  became  bankrupt;  and,  as 
he  was  absolutely  uninitiated  in  the  odd  science  of 
getting  rich  by  such  a  manoeuvre,  was  left  without  a 
shilling  in  the  world.  He  retired  from  his  fine  house, 


THE   RIDE   OF  SAINT  NICHOLAS.  325 

which  was  forthwith  occupied  by  his  good  friend  the 
money-lender,  whose  nose  had  been  tweaked  by  St. 
Nicholas,  as  heretofore  recorded,  and  sought  shelter  in 
the  wretched  building  where  he  was  found  by  that 
benevolent  worthy.  Destitute  of  resources,  and  en 
tirely  unacquainted  with  the  art  of  living  by  his  wits 
or  his  labour,  though  he  tried  hard  both  ways,  poor 
Johannes  became  gradually  steeped  in  poverty  to  the 
very  lips ;  and,  being  totally  disabled  by  rheumatism, 
might,  peradventure,  with  all  his  family,  have  perished 
that  very  night,  had  not  Providence  mercifully  sent 
the  good  St.  Nicholas  to  their  relief. 

"  Wat  donderdag ! '" ',  exclaimed  the  saint,  when  he  had 
done  —  "  wat  donderdag !  —  was  that  your  house  down 
yonder,  with  the  fine  bedroom,  the  wardrobes,  the 
looking-glass  as  big  as  the  moon,  and  the  bedstead 
with  a  cocked-hat  and  feathers  ? " 

"  Even  so,"  replied  the  other,  hanging  down  his 
head. 

"  Is  Jiet  mogdyk ! "  And,  after  considering  a  little 
while,  the  good  saint,  slapping  his  hand  on  the  table, 
broke  forth  again  —  "  By  donderdag,  but  I'll  soon  set 
tle  this  business." 

He  then  began  to  hum  an  old  Dutch  hymn,  which 
by  its  soothing  and  wholesome  monotony  so  operated 
upon  Johannes  and  his  family,  that  one  and  all  fell 
fast  asleep  in  their  chairs. 

The  good  St.  Nicholas  then  lighted  his  pipe,  and 
seating  himself  by  the  fire,  revolved  in  his  mind  the 
best  mode  of  proceeding  on  this  occasion.  At  first  he 
determined  to  divest  the  rich  money-lender  of  all  his 
ill-gotten  gains,  and  bestow  them  on  poor  Johannes 
and  his  family.  But  when  he  considered  that  the 


326       •  THE   RIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

losel  caitiff  was  already  sufficiently  punished  in  being 
condemned  to  the  sordid  toils  of  money-making,  and 
in  the  privation  of  all  those  social  and  benevolent  feel 
ings  which,  while  they  contribute  to  our  own  happi 
ness,  administer  to  that  of  others ;  that  he  was  for 
ever  beset  with  the  consuming  cares  of  avarice,  the 
hope  of  gain,  and  the  fear  of  losses ;  and  that,  rich  as 
he  was,  he  suffered  all  the  gnawing  pangs  of  an  insa 
tiable  desire  for  more;  —  when  he  considered  all  this, 
St.  Nicholas  decided  to  leave  him  to  the  certain 
punishment  of  wealth  wrongfully  acquired,  and  the 
chances  of  losing  it  by  the  inordinate  appetite  for 
its  increase,  which  sooner  or  later  produces  all  the 
consequences  of  reckless  imprudence. 

"  Let  the  splutterkin  alone,"  thought  St.  Nicholas, 
"  and  he  will  become  the  instrument  of  his  own  pun 
ishment." 

Then  he  went  on  to  think  what  he  should  do  for 
poor  Johannes  and  his  little  children.  Though  he  had 
been  severely  punished  for  his  folly,  yet  did  the  good 
saint,  who  in  his  nightly  holiday  peregrinations  had 
seen  more  of  human  life  and  human  passions  than 
the  sun  ever  shone  upon,  very  well  know  that  sudden 
wealth,  or  sudden  poverty,  is  a  sore  trial  of  the  heart 
of  man,  in  like  manner  as  the  sudden  transition  from 
light  to  darkness,  or  darkness  to  light,  produces  a  tem 
porary  blindness.  It  was  true  that  Johannes  had  re 
ceived  a  severe  lesson,  but  the  great  mass  of  mankind 
are  prone  to  forget  the  chastening  rod  of  experience, 
as  they  do  the  pangs  of  sickness  when  they  are  past. 
He  therefore  settled  in  his  mind,  that  the  return  of 
Johannes  to  competence  and  prosperity  should  be  by 
the  salutary  process  of  his  own  exertions,  and  that  he 


THE   RIDE    OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  327 

should  learn  their  value  by  the  pains  it  cost  to  attain 
them.  "  Net  is  goed  visschen  in  troebel  water"  quoth 
he,  "for  then  a  man  knows  the  value  of  what  he 
catches." 

It  was  broad  daylight  before  he  had  finished  his 
pipe  and  his  cogitations,  when,  placing  his  old  polished 
delft  pipe  carefully  in  his  button-hole,  the  good  saint 
sallied  forth,  leaving  Johannes  and  his  family  still  fast 
asleep  in  their  chairs.  Directly  opposite  the  miserable 
abode  of  Johannes  there  dwelt  a  little  fat  Dutchman, 
with  money-bags  to  match,  who  had  all  his  life  man 
fully  stemmed  the  torrent  of  modern  innovation.  He 
eschewed  all  sorts  of  paper-money,  as  an  invention  of 
people  without  property  to  get  hold  of  those  that  had 
it;  abhorred  the  practice  of  widening  streets;  and 
despised  in  his  heart  all  public  improvements  except 
canals,  a  sneaking  notion  for  which  he  inherited  from 
old  faderland.  He  was  honest  as  the  light  of  the 
blessed  sun ;  and  though  he  opened  his  best  parlour 
but  twice  a  year,  to  have  it  cleaned  and  put  to  rights, 
yet  this  I  will  say  of  him,  that  the  poor  man  who 
wanted  a  dinner  was  never  turned  away  from  his 
table.  The  worthy  burgher  was  standing  at  the  street- 
door,  which  opened  in  the  middle,  and  leaning  over 
the  lower  half,  so  that  the  smoke  of  his  pipe  ascended 
in  the  clear  frosty  morning  in  a  little  white  column  far 
into  the  sky  before  it  was  dissipated. 

St.  Nicholas  stopped  his  wagon  right  before  his 
door,  and  cried  out  in  a  clear,  hearty  voice, 

"Good-morning,  good-morning,  mynheer;  and  a 
happy  New-year  to  you  !  " 

"  Good-morning,"  cried  the  hale  old  burgher,  "  and 
many  happy  New-years  to  you.  Hast  got  any  good 


328  THE   BIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

fat  hen-turkeys  to  sell?"  —  for  he  took  him  for  a 
countryman  coming  in  to  market.  St.  Nicholas  an 
swered  and  said  that  he  had  been  on  a  different  errand 
that  morning ;  and  the  other  cordially  invited  him  to 
alight,  corne  in,  and  take  a  glass  of  hot  spiced  rum, 
with  the  which  it  was  his  custom  to  regale  all  comers 
at  the  jolly  New-year.  The  invitation  was  frankly 
accepted,  for  the  worthy  St.  Nicholas,  though  no 
toper,  was  never  a  member  of  the  temperance  society. 
He  chose  to  be  keeper  of  his  own  conscience,  and  was 
of  opinion  that  a  man  who  is  obliged  to  sign  an  obli 
gation  not  to  drink  will  be  very  likely  to  break  it  the 
first  convenient  opportunity. 

As  they  sat  cosily  together,  by  a  rousing  fire  of 
wholesome  and  enlivening  hickory,  the  little  plump 
Dutchman  occasionally  inveighing  stoutly  against 
paper-money,  railroads,  improving  streets,  and  the 
like,  the  compassionate  saint  took  occasion  to  utter  a 
wish  that  the  poor  man  over  the  way  and  his  starving 
family  had  some  of  the  good  things  that  were  so  rife 
on  New-year's  day,  for  he  had  occasion  to  know  that 
they  were  suffering  all  the  evils  of  the  most  abject 
poverty. 

"  The  splutterkin !,"  exclaimed  the  little  fat  burgher 
— "  he  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer  himself.  I  had  a  sus 
picion  of  this,  and  sought  divers  occasions  to  get 
acquainted  with  him,  that  I  might  have  some  excuse 
for  prying  into  his  necessities,  and  take  the  privilege 
of  an  old  neighbour  to  relieve  them.  But,  vuur  en 
vlammen !  would  you  believe  it  —  he  avoided  me  just 
as  if  he  owed  me  money,  and  couldn't  pay." 

St.  Nicholas  observed,  that  if  it  was  ever  excusable 
for  a  man  to  be  proud,  it  was  when  he  fell  into  a  state 


THE   RIDE    OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  329 

where  every  one,  high  and  low,  worthless  and  honour 
able,  looked  down  upon  him  with  contempt.  Then 
he  related  to  him  the  story  of  poor  Johannes,  and,  tak 
ing  from  his  pocket  a  heavy  purse,  he  offered  it  to  the 
worthy  old  burgher,  who  swore  he  would  be  dondered 
if  he  wanted  any  of  his  money. 

"  But  hearken  to  me,"  said  the  saint ;  "  yon  foolish 
lad  is  the  son  of  an  old  friend  of  mine,  who  did  rne 
many  a  kindness  in  his  day,  for  which  I  am  willing  to 
requite  his  posterity.  Thou  shalt  take  this  purse  and 
bestow  a  small  portion  of  it,  as  from  thyself,  as  a  loan 
from  time  to  time,  as  thou  seest  he  deserves  it  by  his 
exertions.  It  may  happen,  as  I  hope  it  will,  that  in 
good  time  he  will  acquire  again  the  competency  he 
hath  lost  by  his  own  folly  and  inexperience ;  and,  as 
he  began  the  world  a  worthy,  respectable  citizen,  I 
beseech  thee  to  do  this  —  to  be  his  friend,  and  to 
watch  over  him  and  his  little  ones,  in  the  name  of  St. 
Nicholas." 

The  portly  burgher  promised  that  he  would,  and 
they  parted  with  marvellous  civility,  St.  Nicholas  hav 
ing  promised  to  visit  him  again  should  his  life  be 
spared.  He  then  mounted  his  wagon,  and  the  unsus 
picious  Dutchman  having  turned  his  head  for  an 
instant,  when  he  looked  again  could  see  nothing  of 
the  saint  or  his  equipage.  "  Is  het  mogelyk ! ",  ex 
claimed  he,  and  his  mind  misgave  him  that  there  was 
something  unaccountable  in  the  matter. 

My  story  is  already  too  long,  peradventure,  else 
would  I  describe  the  astonishment  of  Johannes  and 
his  wife,  when  they  awoke  and  found  that  the  benevo 
lent  stranger  had  departed  without  bidding  them  fare 
well.  They  would  have  thought  all  that  had  passed 


330  THE   RIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS. 

but  a  dream,  had  not  the  fragments  of  the  good 
things  on  which  they  regaled  during  the  night  borne 
testimony  to  its  reality.  Neither  will  I  detail  how, 
step  by  step,  aided  by  the  advice  and  countenance  of 
the  worthy  little  Dutchman,  and  the  judicious  manner 
of  his  dispensing  the  bounty  of  St.  Nicholas,  Johannes 
Garrebrantze,  by  a  course  of  industry,  economy,  and 
integrity,  at  length  attained  once  again  the  station  he 
had  lost  by  his  follies  and  extravagance.  Suffice  it  to 
say,  that  though  he  practised  a  rational  self-denial  in 
all  his  expenditures,  he  neither  became  a  miser,  nor 
did  he  value  money,  except  as  the  means  of  obtaining 
the  comforts  of  life,  and  administering  to  the  happi 
ness  of  others. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  money-lender,  not  being  con 
tent  with  the  wealth  he  had  obtained  by  taking  undue 
advantage  of  the  distresses  of  others,  and  becoming 
every  day  more  greedy,  launched  out  into  mighty 
speculations.  He  founded  a  score  of  towns  without 
any  houses  in  them ;  dealt  by  hundreds  of  thousands 
in  fancy  stocks ;  and  finally  became  the  victim  of  one 
of  his  own  speculations,  by  in  time  coming  to  believe 
in  the  very  deceptions  he  had  practised  upon  others. 
It  is  an  old  saying,  that  the  greatest  rogue  in  the 
world,  sooner  or  later,  meets  with  his  match ;  and  so 
it  happened  with  the  money-lender.  He  was  seduced 
into  the  purchase  of  a  town  without  any  houses  in  it, 
at  an  expense  of  millions ;  was  met  by  one  of  those 
reactions  that  play  the  mischief  with  honest  labourers, 
and  thus  finally  perished  in  a  bottomless  pit  of  his 
own  digging.  Finding  himself  sinking,  he  resorted  to 
forgeries,  and  had  by  this  means  raised  money  to  such 
an  amount,  that  his  villany  almost  approached  to  the 


THE   HIDE   OF   SAINT   NICHOLAS.  331 

sublime.  His  property,  as  the  phrase  is,  came  under 
the  hammer,  and  Johannes  purchased  his  own  house 
at  half  the  price  it  cost  him  in  building. 

The  good  St.  Nicholas  trembled  at  the  new  ordeal 
to  which  Johannes  had  subjected  himself;  but,  find 
ing,  when  he  visited  him,  as  he  did  regularly  every 
New-year's  eve,  that  he  was  cured  of  his  foolish 
vanities,  and  that  his  wife  was  one  of  the  best 
house-keepers  in  all  Fort  Orange,  he  discarded  his 
apprehensions,  and  rejoiced  in  the  prosperity  that  was 
borne  so  meekly  and  wisely.  The  little  fat  Dutch 
man  lived  a  long  time  in  expectation  that  the  stranger 
in  the  one-horse  wagon  would  come  for  the  pay 
ment  of  his  purse  of  money ;  but,  finding  that  year 
after  year  rolled  away  without  his  appearing,  often 
said  to  himself,  as  he  sat  on  his  stoop  with  a  pipe  in 
his  mouth, 

"  I'll  be  dondered  if  I  don't  believe  it  was  the  good 
St.  Nicholas." 


THE    POLITICIAN. 


Library.  ) 


THE   POLITICIAN. 


•Tovs  called  honours 


Make  men  on  whom  they  are  bestowed  no  better 
Than  glorious  slaves,  tne  servants  of  the  vulgar. 
Men  sweat  at  helm  as  well  as  at  the  oar. 
Here  is  a  glass  within  shall  show  you,  sir, 
The  vanity  of  these  silkworms  that  do  think. 
They  toil  not,  'cause  they  spin  their  threact  so  fine." 

RANDOLPH. 

ONE  of  the  most  dangerous  characters  in  the  world 
is  a  man  who  habitually  sacrifices  the  eternal,  im 
mutable,  obligations  of  truth  and  justice,  and  the 
charities  of  social  life,  at  the  shrine  of  an  abstract 
principle,  about  which  one  half  of  mankind  differs 
from  the  other  half.  Whether  this  abstract  principle 
is  connected  with  religion,  or  politics,  is  of  little  conse 
quence  ;  since,  after  all,  morals  constitute  the  essence 
of  religion,  and  social  duties  the  foundation  of  gov 
ernment.  Whatever  is  essential  to  the  conduct  of 
our  lives,  to  the  performance  of  our  duties  to  our 
families  our  neighbours  and  our  country,  is  easy  of 
comprehension ;  and  it  requires  neither  argument  nor 
metaphysics  to  teach  us  what  is  right  or  what  is 
wrong.  These  are  great  fundamental  principles, 
modified  indeed  by  the  state  of  society  and  the  habits 


336  THE   POLITICIAN. 

of  different  nations ;  but  their  nature  and  obligations 
are  every  where  the  same,  inflexible  and  universal  in 
their  application.  A  close  examination  of  the  history 
of  the  world  in  every  age  will  go  far  to  convince  us, 
that  a  vast  portion  of  the  crimes  and  miseries  and  op 
pressions  of  mankind  has  originated  in  a  difference, 
not  in  morals,  but  in  abstract  ideas ;  not  in  funda 
mental  principles,  but  in  vague  and  flimsy  theories, 
incomprehensible  to  the  great  mass,  and  having  not 
the  remotest  connection  with  our  moral  and  social 
duties.  When  men  come  to  assume  these  contested 
principles,  these  metaphysical  refinements,  as  indis 
pensable  to  the  salvation  of  the  soul  or  the  preserva 
tion  of  the  state,  and  to  substitute  them  in  the  place  of 
the  everlasting  pillars  of  truth  and  justice,  they  cast 
themselves  loose  from  their  moorings,  to  drift  at  ran 
dom  in  the  stream,  the  sport  of  every  eddy,  the  dupes 
of  every  bubble,  the  victims  of  every  shoal  and  quick 
sand.  Instead  of  sailing  by  the  bright  star  of  mari 
ners,  which  sparkles  for  ever  in  the  same  pure  sphere, 
they  shape  their  course  by  the  fleeting  vapour  which 
is  never  the  same;  which  rises  in  the  morning,  a  fog; 
ascends,  a  fantastic  cloud  ;  and  vanishes  in  the  splen 
dours  of  the  noontide  sun. 

The  following  sketch  of  my  own  history  will  serve 
to  illustrate  the  preceding  observations,  by  showing 
how  near  an  adherence  to  certain  vague,  contested, 
abstract  principles  in  politics,  brought  me  to  a  breach 
of  all  the  cardinal  virtues. 

I  am  a  politician  by  inheritance.  My  guardian,  for 
I  was  early  left  an  orphan,  was  the  great  man  of  a  lit 
tle  state  that  had  more  banks  and  great  men  than  any 
state  of  its  inches  in  the  universe.  The  state  was  too 


THE   POLITICIAN.  387 

small  to  accommodate  more  than  one  great  man  at  a 
time ;  and  the  consequence  was  an  incessant  struggle 
to  keep  one  another's  heads  under  water.  Like  the 
buckets  of  a  well,  as  one  rose  the  other  sunk ;  and 
the  filling  of  one  was  the  emptying  of  the  other. 
These  struggles  for  the  helm  of  the  little  vessel  of 
state  kept  up  a  perpetual  excitement.  The  puddle 
of  our  politics  was  ever  in  a  mighty  storm,  and,  like 
Pope's  sylph,  our  illustrious  great  men  were  continu 
ally  in  danger  of  perishing  in  the  foam  of  a  cup  of 
hot  chocolate.  Then,  our  political  barque  was  so  small 
that  the  veriest  zephyr  was  enough  to  upset  her,  and 
Gulliver's  frog  would  have  shipwrecked  us  outright. 

From  my  earliest  years,  I  heard  nothing  but  poli 
tics.  Our  family  circle  were  all  politicians ;  men, 
women,  and  children.  The  wife  of  my  guardian 
made  it  a  point  of  faith  never  to  believe  any  thing 
good  of  the  females  of  the  opposite  party ;  and 
though  she  was  too  conscientious  to  invent  scandals 
herself,  she  religiously  believed  the  slanders  of  others. 
Her  candour  never  went  beyond  acknowledging  that 
she  believed  ignorance,  and  not  wickedness,  was  at 
the  bottom  of  their  want  of  political  principle.  The 
only  daughter,  naturally  an  amiable  girl,  publicly 
gave  out  she  would  never  marry  any  one  who  did 
not  believe  her  father  to  be  a  greater  man  than  the 
Honourable  Dibble  Dibblee,  innkeeper  at  Dibblees- 
ville,  his  most  formidable  rival.  Love  however  proved 
at  last  too  potent  for  politics,  and  she  relented  in 
favour  of  a  handsome  and  rich  Dibbleeite. 

For  my  part,  I  was  nurtured  at  the  breast  of  poli 
tics,  and  imbibed  a  nutriment  gloriously  concocted  of 
a  hundred  absurd,  ridiculous,  unneighbouiiy,  and  un- 

22 


338  THE   POLITICIAN. 

Christian  prejudices  and  antipathies.  With  me  the 
world  was  divided,  not  into  the  good  and  the  bad, 
the  wise  and  the  foolish,  but  into  the  adherents  of 
the  Honourable  Dibble  Dibblee,  innkeeper  at  JOibblees- 
ville,  and  those  of  the  Honourable  Peleg  Peashell, 
cash-store-keeper  at  Peashellville.  At  school  I  sig 
nalized  my  devotion  to  principle,  by  refusing  to  share 
my  good-will  or  my  gingerbread  with  boys*  of  the 
opposite  party ;  and  many  are  the  battles  I  fought  in 
vindication  of  the  wisdom,  purity,  and  consistency  of 
the  Honourable  Peleg,  my  worthy  guardian,  who,  I 
verily  believe  even  to  this  day,  was  an  honest  politi 
cian  till  the  age  of  forty.  After  that,  I  will  not  answer 
for  any  man,  not  even  my  own  guardian.  The  prime 
object  of  my  antipathy  was  a  lad  of  the  name  of  Red- 
field,  a  gay,  careless,  sprightly,  mercurial  genius,  who 
always  professed  to  belong  to  no  party,  and  whom  I 
for  that  reason  considered  utterly  destitute  of  all  prin 
ciple.  Several  times  I  attempted  to  beat  principle 
into  him  ;  but  he  had  the  obstinacy  of  a  Puritan  and 
the  boldness  of  a  lion.  I  always  got  worsted ;  but 
my  consolation  was  that  I  was  the  champion  of 
principle,  and  must  not  be  discouraged. 

At  the  time  I  am  speaking  of,  parties  were  at  the 
height  of  contention,  and  the  demons  of  discord,  in 
the  disguise  of  two  editors  of  party  newspapers,  flapped 
their  sooty  wings  over  the  little  state.  There  was 
a  great  contest  of  principle,  on  the  decision  of  which 
depended  the  very  existence  of  the  liberties,  not  only 
of  our  little  state,  but  of  the  whole  Union.  I  never 
could  find  out  what  this  principle  was,  exactly ;  but  it 
turned  on  the  question,  whether  a  certain  bridge 
about  to  be  built  should  be  a  free  bridge  or  a  toll- 


THE   POLITICIAN.  339 

bridge.  The  whole  state  divided  on  this  great  ques 
tion  of  principle.  The  Honourable  Peleg  Peashell 
was  at  the  head  of  the  free  bridge,  on  which  was 
based  the  great  arch  of  our  political  union  ;  and  the 
Honourable  Dibble  Dibblee,  whose  principles  were 
always  exactly  opposite,  forthwith  took  the  field  as 
leader  of  the  toll-bridge  party.  The  Honourable 
Peleg  declared  it  was  against  his  principles  to  pay 
toll ;  and  the  Honourable  Dibble  Dibblee  found  it 
equally  against  his  principles  to  apply  any  part  of  his 
money  to  building  a  bridge  which  was  to  bring  him 
nothing  in  return.  Both  sides  accused  the  other  of 
being  governed  by  interested  motives.  Such  is  the 
injustice  of  party  feelings!  There  was  a  tertium  quid 
party,  growling  in  an  undertone,  which  was  opposed 
to  having  any  bridge  at  all,  upon  the  principle,  that  as 
it  would  be  no  advantage  to  them,  and  at  the  same 
time  cost  them  money,  it  was  their  interest  to  oppose 
the  whole  affair.  The  leader  of  this  party  was  the 
Honourable  Tobias  Dob,  a  ruling  elder  of  the  princi 
pal  church  in  Dobsboroughvilleton. 

The  fate  of  a  pending  election  rested  on  this  bridge, 
and  the  fate  of  the  bridge  rested  on  the  election.  The 
principle  to  be  decided  was  one  on  which  the  liberties 
of  the  whole  confederation  depended.  Is  it  therefore 
to  be  wondered  at,  that  the  good  people  of  our  patri 
otic  state  should  consider  the  destinies  of  the  world 
and  the  future  welfare  of  all  mankind  as  mainly  de 
pending  on  the  decision  of  this  great  question?  or 
can  we  be  surprised,  if,  in  a  contest  for  such  momen 
tous  principles,  affecting  not  only  the  present  age  but 
all  posterity,  the  passions  of  men  should  be  excited, 
and  all  the  charities  of  life  forgotten,  in  this  vital 


340  THE   POLITICIAN. 

struggle  for  the  human  race,  present  and  to  come? 
Heavens !  how  our  political  puddle  did  foam,  and 
swell,  and  lash  its  sides,  and  blow  up  bubbles,  and 
disturb  the  sleepy  serenity  of  the  worms  inhabiting 
its  precincts ! 

On  the  day  of  election  each  party  took  the  field, 
under  its  own  appropriate  banner.  The  party  of  the 
Honourable  Peleg  Peashell  had  for  its  motto,  "  Prin 
ciple,  not  Interest ; "  that  of  the  Honourable  Dibble 
Dibblee,  "  Interest,  not  Principle  ;  "  and  the  Honoura 
ble  Tobias  Dob  paraded  his  tertium  quids  under  that 
of,  "  Principle,  and  Interest."  Here  was  room  enough, 
and  reason  enough  too,  in  all  conscience,  for  the  god 
dess  of  contention  to  act  a  most  splendid  part ;  and, 
accordingly,  had  the  ancestors  of  the  different  parties 
been  fighting  from  the  creation  of  the  world,  their 
posterity  could  not  have  hated  each  other  as  did  my 
worthy  fellow-citizens  —  for  the  time  being.  They 
abused  one  another  by  word  of  mouth  ;  they  pub 
lished  handbills  and  caricatures;  and  such  was  the 
disruption  of  the  social  principle,  that  the  adherents 
of  the  Honourable  Peleg  Peashell  passed  an  unani 
mous  resolution  to  abstain  from  visiting  the  tavern  of 
the  Honourable  Dibble  Dibblee  from  that  time  for 
ward.  The  friends  of  the  Honourable  Dibble  retorted 
upon  those  of  the  Honourable  Peleg,  by  passing  an 
unanimous  resolution  not  to  buy  any  thing  at  his 
cash-store ;  and  the  tertium  quids  also  passed  a  reso 
lution,  that,  "  Whereas  all  men  are  born  free  and 
equal,  and  whereas  the  liberty  of  speech  and  action  is 
the  inalienable  right  of  all,  therefore,  resolved  unani 
mously,  that  the  Honourable  Peleg  Peashell  is  a  fool ; 
the  Honourable  Dibble  Dibblee,  a  rogue;  and  the 


THE   POLITICIAN.  341 

Honourable  Tobias  Dob,  a  man  to  whom  the  age  has 
produced  few  equals  and  no  superior." 

(Signed)  "  Upright  Primm,  Moderator" 
The  Honourable  Peleg  had  unfortunately  broken  the 
bridge  of  his  nose  in  early  life,  and  the  breach  had 
never  been  properly  repaired.  His  adversary  took 
advantage  of  him,  by  publishing  a  caricature  of  a 
man  in  that  unlucky  predicament,  crying  out,  "  No 
bridge  —  down  with  the  bridges !"  Whereupon  the 
other  party  retorted,  by  a  figure  standing  under  an 
old  fashioned  sign-post,  (which  every  body  knows 
marvellously  resembles  a  gallows),  with  a  label  bear 
ing  the  following  posy:  "Hang  all  republicans!  I'm 
for  the  publican  party  —  huzza !  give  us  a  sling." 
The  Honourable  Tobias  would  also  have  inflicted  a 
caricature  upon  his  adversaries,  but,  as  ill  luck  would 
have  it,  the  election  fund  gave  out  just  at  the  crisis. 
This  incident  brought  on  a  negotiation,  in  which  the 
Honourable  Dibble  Dibblee  intimated  an  offer  to  treat 
the  tertium  quids  during  the  remainder  of  the  election, 
gratis,  provided  they  would  promise  to  drink  moder 
ately,  and  vote  for  him.  Thereupon  the  Honourable 
Tobias  found  his  principles  inclining  a  little  to  one 
side ;  but  the  Honourable  Peleg,  having  got  notice  of 
this  intrigue,  took  measures  to  bolster  him  up  again, 
by  proposing  a  coalition.  He  offered  to  make  the 
Honourable  Tobias  a  judge  of  the  Superior  Court, 
with  a  salary  of  sixty  dollars,  if  he  would  bring  over 
his  tertium  quids.  Tobias  —  I  beg  pardon  —  the 
Honourable  Tobias  Dob,  balanced  for  a  moment  be 
tween  the  vital  principle  of  benefiting  his  friends,  and 
the  vital  principle  of  benefiting  himself.  After  a  sore 
struggle  the  latter  prevailed,  and  the  Honourable 


342  THE   POLITICIAN. 

Peleg  Peashell  was  elected  governor.  His  friends 
pronounced  it  the  greatest  triumph  of  principle  that 
had  ever  been  achieved  upon  earth;  but,  truth  obliges 
me  to  say,  the  friends  of  the  Honourable  Dibble 
Dibblee  slandered  their  opponents  with  the  oppro 
brium  of  a  corrupt  coalition.  To  be  even  with  them, 
the  friends  of  the  Honourable  Peleg  denounced  the 
others  as  a  corrupt  combination.  Thenceforward  the 
question  of  toll  and  no  toll  was  swallowed  up  in  the 
great  principle  involved  in  the  question  of  coalition 
and  combination.  The  tertium  quids,  who  still  kept 
together  for  the  purpose  of  selling  themselves  again 
to  the  highest  bidder,  insisted  there  was  no  difference 
between  a  coalition  and  a  combination,  and  therefore 
they  would  join  neither.  "  You  are  mistaken,"  said 
my  old  school-mate  and  antagonist,  Redfield,  —  "  you 
are  mistaken ;  there  is  all  the  difference  in  the  world. 
A  coalition  is  a  combination  of  honest  men,  to  get 
into  office  ;  and  a  combination  is  a  coalition  of  honest 
men,  to  get  them  out.  They  are  no  more  alike  than 
a  salamander  and  a  bull-frog ;  they  inhabit  the  oppo 
site  elements." 

It  was  in  this  contest  that  I  first  brought  into  prac 
tical  operation  the  principles  I  had  imbibed  from  the 
conversation  and  example  of  my  worthy  guardian. 
Young  and  inexperienced  as  I  was,  I  most  firmly  be 
lieved  that  the  Honourable  Peleg  Peashell  was  the 
most  honest  as  well  as  capable  man  in  the  state ;  that 
it  depended  in  a  great  measure  on  his  election,  whether 
freedom  or  slavery  should  predominate  in  the  world ; 
and,  consequently,  that  those  who  opposed  him  must 
be  devoid  of  principle  as  well  as  patriotism.  It  was 
one  of  the  maxims  of  the  Honourable  Peleg,  that  all 


THE    POLITICIAN.  .        343 

minor  principles  ought  to  yield  to  one  great  principle, 
by  which  the  life  of  every  great  man  should  be  gov 
erned.  Once  convinced  that  the  safety  or  welfare  of 
a  nation  or  a  community  depended  on  the  success  of 
a  party  struggle,  it  was  not  only  justifiable,  but  an 
inflexible  duty,  to  sacrifice  all  other  duties  and  obliga 
tions  to  the  attainment  of  the  great  object.  If  it 
happened  that  our  individual  interest  or  advancement 
was  connected  with,  or  dependent  on,  the  triumph  of 
the  great  principle,  so  much  the  better ;  we  could  kill 
two  birds  with  one  stone,  and  not  only  save  our 
country,  but  provide  for  our  families  at  the  same 
time.  The  Honourable  Peleg  was  a  great  man,  and 
my  guardian ;  his  opinions  and  example  could  there 
fore  hardly  fail  of  having  a  vast  influence  on  mine. 

When  this  vital  struggle  about  toll  or  no  toll,  which 
was  to  settle  the  great  principle  on  which  depended 
the  liberties  of  ourselves  and  our  posterity,  com 
menced,  my  guardian  hinted  to  me  that  now  was  the 
time  to  gain  immortal  glory,  by  assisting  in  the  salva 
tion  of  my  country.  I  begged  to  be  put  in  the  way 
of  achieving  this  great  service. 

"  There  is  my  neighbour  Brookfield,  whose  influence 
is  considerable.  He  supports  my  enemies  and  the 
enemies  of  the  great  principle  on  which  the  salvation 
of  the  country  depends.  I  want  to  destroy  that  in 
fluence." 

"  Very  well,  sir.  Shall  I  attack  his  opinions  in  the 
public  papers  ?  " 

"  Attack  his  opinions !  Attack  a  fiddlestick,  Oakford. 
You  may  as  well  fight  with  a  shadow.  No,  no ;  at 
tack  him  personally,  cut  up  his  moral  character ;  that 
is  the  way,  boy.  Even  people  that  have  no  mor- 


344  THE    POLITICIAN. 

als  themselves  are  very  tenacious  of  the  morals  of 
others." 

"  But,  sir,  I  know  nothing  of  the  morals  of  Mr. 
Brookfield,  but  what  is  greatly  to  his  credit.  I  can't 
in  conscience  publish  or  utter  any  thing  against  his 
character.  His  opinions  " 

"  Pish  !  opinions  !  —  opinions  are  nothing,  unless 
they  grow  into  actions.  You  must  make  him  out  to 
be  a  great  rogue,  or  1  shall  lose  my  election." 

"  I  can't,  sir ;  it  goes  against  my  conscience." 

"Conscience!  —  what  has  conscience  to  do  with 
principle  ?  You  would  sacrifice  the  liberties  of  your 
country  and  the  happiness  of  unborn  millions  to  a 
scruple  of  conscience.  Ah !  George,  you  will  never 
make  a  politician." 

"  But,  sir,  Mr.  Brookfield  is  my  friend ;  I  have  vis 
ited  at  his  house  almost  every  day  for  the  last  two 
years,  and  he  and  his  family  have  treated  me  like  one 
of  themselves.  It  would  be  ungrateful." 

"  And  so,"  said  the  Honourable  Peleg,  with  a  sneer, 
"  and  so  you  would  place  your  own  private,  and  per 
sonal,  and,  let  me  say,  selfish  feelings,  in  opposition 
to  a  great  principle  on  which  the  salvation  of  your 
country  depends." 

"  But,  sir,  by  attacking  the  moral  character  of  Mr. 
Brookfield,  I  should  not  only  injure  his  own  feelings, 
but  perhaps  destroy  the  happiness  of  his  wife  and 
daughter,  who  are  innocent  of  all  offence  against 
you." 

"  Ah !  George,  I  see  how  it  is ;  you  are  smitten 
with  Miss  Deliverance  Brookfield,  and  would  sacrifice 
a  great  principle  to  a  little  interested  consideration  of 
your  own.  I  must  make  a  tailor  of  you ;  you'll  never 
do  for  a  politician." 


THE   POLITICIAN.  345 

The  Honourable  Peleg  left  me  to  consider  of  the 
matter.  It  was  a  sore  struggle,  but  at  last  principle 
triumphed,  and  I  determined  most  heroically  to  sacri 
fice  all  petty  and  personal  motives  to  the  salvation  of 
my  country.  My  guardian  furnished  me  with  certain 
hints,  on  which  I  exercised  my  genius,  in  the  compo 
sition  of  a  most  atrocious  libel. 

"  It  won't  do,"  said  the  Honourable  Peleg ;  "  it  will 
lay  you  open  to  a  prosecution  for  libel." 

"  Well,  what  of  that,  sir?  I  am  willing  to  encoun 
ter  any  peril  for  the  salvation  of  my  country." 

"  Yes,"  said  my  guardian,  after  some  hesitation, 
"  yes ;  but  there  is  no  occasion  to  risk  your  fortune 
for  the  purpose.  The  salvation  of  the  country  don't 
depend  on  money,  but  principle.  You  are  about  to 
become  a  patriot;  and  a  rich  patriot  has  always  more 
influence  than  a  poor  one  :  you  must  therefore  keep 
your  money  for  the  salvation  of  the  country." 

My  commerce  with  mankind  has  since  taught  me 
that  the  capacity  of  men  for  worldly  affairs  is  almost 
entirely  founded  on  experience.  Hence  it  is  that  so 
few  men  go  right  in  the  first  affair  they  undertake. 
It  did  not  occur  to  me  at  the  time,  that,  as  I  was  un 
der  age,  the  Honourable  Peleg  would  have  been  re 
sponsible  for  the  libel,  had  it  been  published.  Be  this 
as  it  may,  I  resigned  my  first  literary  offspring  into 
the  hands  of  my  guardian,  who  softened  it  down  into 
hints,  innuendoes,  and  interrogations,  and  converted 
it  into  one  of  the  most  mischievous  yet  legally  guilt 
less  instruments  of  torture  ever  seen  in  or  out  of  the 
Inquisition.  The  article  appeared  in  the  Banner  of 
Truth,  our  paper ;  and  was  followed  up,  from  time  to 
time,  with  others  still  more  cruelly  unintelligible,  but 


346  THE   POLITICIAN. 

at  the  same  time  calculated,  by  their  very  mystery,  to 
do  the  more  mischief.  There  was  no  direct  charge ; 
of  course  there  could  be  no  refutation.  My  con 
science  goaded  me  day  and  night.  I  had  not  the  face 
to  visit  our  neighbour  any  more,  after  thus  wounding 
his  feelings;  and  this  squeamishness,  as  the  Honour 
able  Peleg  told  me,  was  another  proof  that  I  would 
never  make  a  great  politician.  I  sometimes  ventured 
to  look  at  the  family  in  church,  where  the  grave  de 
pression  of  Mr.  Brookfield,  and  the  paleness  of  his 
wife  and  daughter,  went  to  my  heart.  But  this  feeling 
of  compunction  hardened  at  length  into  one  of  lofty 
triumph,  that  I  had  sacrificed  my  early  feelings  and 
associations,  my  selfish  considerations,  to  principle. 

One  day  I  met  Deliverance  Brookfield,  by  chance, 
in  a  spot  where  we  had  often  played  together 
in  childhood,  and  walked  together  in  youth.  She 
turned  her  head  the  other  way,  and  was  passing  me 
without  notice.  The  sense  of  offending  guilt  over 
came  for  a  moment  the  sublime  theory  of  the 
Honourable  Peleg,  and  I  involuntarily  exclaimed, 
"Miss  Brookfield!" 

She  turned  upon  me  a  countenance  at  once  pale 
and  beautiful,  but  tinged  deeply  with  melancholy 
reproach,  as  she  looked  steadily  in  my  face  without 
speaking. 

"  Have  you  forgot  me,  Miss  Brookfield  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  have,"  at  length  she  replied,  in  a  sad 
kind  of  languor.  "  I  would  never  wish  to  remember 
one  who  has  repaid  the  friendship  of  my  father,  and 
the  kindness  of  my  mother,  by  destroying  our  happi 
ness." 

I  felt  like  a  scoundrel,  but  mustered  hypocrisy 
enough  to  answer  in  a  gay  tone, 


THE   POLITICIAN.  347 

"  My  dear  Miss  Brookfield,  nobody  thinks  any 
thing  of  such  trifles  in  politics ;  nothing  but  political 
squibs  —  forgot  in  a  day  —  they  do  no  harm  to  any 
one." 

"None,"  she  replied  bitterly;  "no  harm,  except 
murdering  reputations  and  breaking  hearts.  My  fa 
ther  is  dying."  And  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Dying !  "  cried  I,  —  "  Heaven  forbid !     Of  what  ?  " 

"  Of  the  wounds  you  have  given  him.  O  George, 
George!,"  continued  she,  "  you  should  come  to  our 
house  and  receive  a  lesson  of  what  a  few  slanders 
can  do  in  destroying  the  happiness  of  an  innocent 
family." 

She  passed  on,  and  I  had  not  courage  to  stop,  or 
to  follow,  her.  I  went  to  the  honourable  Peleg,  and 
gave  him  notice  that  it  was  my  intention  to  retract 
all  I  had  said  or  insinuated  against  Mr.  Brookfield, 
in  the  next  day's  Banner  of  Truth. 

"  And  lose  me  rny  election  —  I  mean,  jeopardize  the 
happiness  of  millions,  and  sacrifice  a  great  principle 
to  a  little  private  feeling  of  compunction  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  bear  the  stings  of  conscience." 

"  My  dear  George,  you,  and  such  inexperienced 
young  fellows  as  yourself,  are  for  ever  mistaking  the 
painful  efforts  which  are  necessary  to  the  attainment 
of  a  high  degree  of  public  virtue,  for  the  stings  of 
conscience.  If  the  practice  of  virtue  was  not  attained 
by  great  sacrifices  of  feeling  and  inclination,  there 
would  be  little  merit  in  being  virtuous.  What  if  you 
have  destroyed  the  temporary  happiness  of  two  or 
three  people,  provided  you  have  ensured  the  triumph 
of  a  great  principle,  and  the  salvation  of  your  coun 
try  ?  It  is  the  noble,  the  exalted,  the  disinterested 


348  THE    POLITICIAN. 

sacrifice  of  private  inclinations  and  social  feelings 
to  public  duty.  Did  not  Brutus  condemn  his  only 
son  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  he  did  not  calumniate  his  mother  and 
sisters." 

"  The  greater  the  sacrifice  to  public  principles,  the 
greater  the  glory  and  reward.  The  election  commen 
ces  to-morrow,  and  you  must  strike  one  more  blow." 

As  it  is  my  design  to  make  my  story  as  useful  to 
the  rising  generation  of  politicians  as  possible,  I 
mean  to  disclose  myself  without  disguise  or  reserva 
tion.  I  did  let  slip  another  shaft  against  poor  Brook- 
field,  which  probably  accelerated  his  progress  to  the 
grave,  and  deprived  my  kind  friend  and  my  pretty 
playmate  of  a  husband  and  a  father.  I  would  not 
confess  this  hateful  fact,  could  I  not  lay  my  hand  at 
this  moment  on  my  heart,  look  in  the  face  of  Heaven 
and  man,  and  say,  that  at  the  moment  of  inflicting  a 
death-wound  on  the  happiness  of  those  who  had  been 
to  me  as  a  mother,  a  father,  and  a  sister,  I  had  con 
vinced  myself  I  was  sacrificing  a  narrow,  selfish  feel 
ing,  to  an  enlarged  and  universal  principle  of  virtuous 
patriotism.  Poor  Brookfield  died  a  few  days  after 
the  election ;  but  the  honourable  Peleg  Peashell 
gained  the  victory;  and  a  domestic  calamity  was 
not,  as  he  assured  me,  to  be  weighed  for  a  moment 
against  the  triumph  of  a  great  principle,  and  the  sal 
vation  of  millions  of  people  yet  unborn.  Brookfield 
was  no  more  ;  his  family  was  destitute ;  his  widow 
heart-broken ;  his  daughter  without  a  protector ;  and 
his  little  son,  of  about  ten  years  old,  left  upon  the 
world.  But  what  of  that  ?  The  great  principle  had 
triumphed;  the  oppression  of  toll-bridges  was  pre- 


THE   POLITICIAN.  349 

vented ;  and  the  honourable  Peleg  Peashell  was  gov 
ernor  of  a  little  state  containing  more  banks  and 
more  great  men  than  any  state  of  its  inches  in  the 
universe,  with  a  salary  of  five  hundred  dollars  a  year, 
and  the  power  to  do  nothing  but  consent  to  the  acts 
of  other  people. 

From  this  time  forward  I  became  the  confidential 
friend  and  adviser  of  the  great  governor  of  the  little 
state,  commander  of  an  army  and  admiral  of  a  navy 
that  had  no  existence;  who  had  five  hundred  dollars 
a  year,  with  the  title  of  Excellency,  and  the  privilege 
of  doing  nothing  of  his  own  free  will,  and  of  frank 
ing  letters.  The  Lord  have  mercy  on  a  little  man 
who  becomes  the  confidential  friend  and  adviser  of  a 
great  man.  He  will  be  obliged  to  do  for  him  what  he 
is  ashamed  to  do  for  himself;  to  take  all  the  blame 
of  giving  bad,  and  relinquish  all  the  credit  of  good, 
counsel ;  to  fetch,  and  carry,  and  say,  and  gainsay, 
and  unsay ;  to  prostitute  his  soul  to  unutterable  mean 
nesses,  and  turn  the  divinity  of  conscience  into  a 
crouching  spaniel,  obeying  every  look,  wagging  his 
tail  in  gratitude  for  kicks,  and  licking  the  hand  that 
lugs  the  ears  from  his  head.  I  speak  from  awful  ex 
perience,  for  never  little  man  was  rode  and  spurred, 
over  hill,  dale,  and  common,  through  ditch,  swamp, 
and  horse-pond,  as  I  was  by  that  illustrious  patriot,  the 
Honourable  Peleg  Peashell  —  I  beg  pardon  —  his  Ex 
cellency,  the  Honourable  Peleg  Peashell,  Esquire. 

But  I  will  do  his  Excellency  the  justice  to  say,  that 
he  did  every  thing  upon  principle,  and  for  the  salva 
tion  of  unborn  millions.  Life,  would  he  say,  is  a 
warfare  of  conflicting  duties  and  opposing  principles ; 
a  choice  of  evils,  or  a  choice  of  goods.  It  is  the 


350  THE   POLITICIAN. 

business  of  a  wise  man  to  decide,  not  between  the 
nearest  and  the  most  distant,  but  between  the  greater 
and  the  lesser,  obligation. 

"  But,"  said  I  modestly  —  for  by  this  time,  such  is 
the  magic  of  dependence  on  great  men,  I  had  come  to 
look  upon  his  Excellency  as  an  oracle  irrefragable  — 
"  But,"  said  I,  "  suppose  one  man  was  holding  a  red- 
hot  poker  to  your  nose,  while  another  was  calling 
upon  you  to  establish  a  great  principle;  would  not 
you  attend  to  the  poker  before  the  principle  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  would,  sir  —  "  His  Excellency  never 
of  late  called  me  "  sir,"  but  when  he  was  a  little  out 
of  humour  —  "  Certainly,  sir;  but  it  would  be  only  in 
compliment  to  the  weakness  of  human  nature;  for 
nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  it  would  be  my  duty 
to  let  the  poker  burn  up  my  nose,  rather  than  miss  the 
opportunity  of  benefiting  future  ages,  by  the  estab 
lishment  of  a  great  political  principle." 

"  But  will  your  Excellency  permit  me  to  ask,  how 
you  ascertain  to  a  certainty  that  a  great  political 
principle  is  right,  when  perhaps  one  half  of  mankind 
think  it  wrong  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  my  own  reason  and  experience  teach 
me." 

"  But  another  man's  reason  and  experience  teach 
him  directly  the  contrary." 

"  Then  he  must  be  either  a  great  blockhead,  or  a 
great  knave,"  replied  the  Honourable  —  I  mean  his 
Excellency,  the  Honourable  —  Peleg  Peashell,  in  a 
tone  that  precluded  further  questioning. 

It  was  many  years  afterwards  that  I  detected  the 
fallacy  of  thus  raising  up  an  idol,  worshipped  by  one 
set  of  men  and  abhorred  by  another,  and  sacrificing 


THE    POLITICIAN.  351 

to  it  the  eternal  and  immutable  attributes  of  justice 
and  truth,  about  which  there  can  be  no  difference  of 
belief.  It  was  only  long  experience  and  reflection  that 
convinced  me  at  last,  that  the  sacrifice  of  moral  and 
social  duties  to  mere  opinions,  exalted  though  these 
might  be  to  the  dignity  of  great  and  established  prin 
ciples,  must  be  fatal  in  the  end,  not  only  to  the  morals 
of  mankind,  but  to  that  freedom  which  is  based  upon 
them.  I  received  the  responses  of  his  Excellency  with 
profound  submission,  and  continued  to  act  upon  them 
throughout  an  extended  political  servitude. 

About  a  year  after  the  great  triumph  of  principle, 
which  resulted  in  the  choice  of  his  Excellency  the 
Honourable  Peleg  Peashell  for  Governor  of  the  little 
state  with  such  a  plenty  of  banks  and  great  men,  I 
came  of  age,  and  it  was  proper  for  his  Excellency  to 
give  an  account  of  the  administration  of  my  affairs. 
He  put  me  off  from  day  to  day,  from  month  to  month, 
from  year  to  year,  until  rny  patience  was  quite  worn 
out.  At  length,  finding  it  impossible  any  longer  to 
satisfy  me  with  excuses,  he  one  day  addressed  me  as 
follows :  — 

"  My  dear  young  friend,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  a  man  whose  whole  soul  is  taken  up  with  his 
public,  can  pay  proper  attention  to  his  private,  duties. 
Whenever  these  come  in  conflict,  it  is  his  pride  and 
glory  to  sacrifice  all  for  his  country,  and  beggar  him 
self  for  the  salvation  of  unborn  millions.  I  cannot 
tell  exactly  how  it  happened,  but  your  fortune  is  gone. 
Either  I  have  spent  it  myself,  by  mistake,  in  the  hurry 
of  my  public  duties,  or  some  one  else  has  spent  it  for 
me.  However,  this  cannot  be  of  much  consequence, 
since  the  great  principle  has  triumphed,  and  the  salva- 


352  THE   POLITICIAN. 

tion  of  the  country  is  secured  beyond  all  future  hazard. 
Remember  how  Brutus  the  elder  sacrificed  his  son,  as 
an  example  to  the  Roman  militia,  and  console  your 
self  with  the  certainty  that  you  have  devoted  your 
fortune  to  the  establishment  of  a  great  principle." 

This  reasoning,  though  it  had  always  proved  satis 
factory  when  applied  to  the  affairs  of  other  people, 
did  not  exactly  relish  to  my  understanding  in  the 
present  case.  It  occurred  to  me,  that  though  a  man 
might  honestly  sacrifice  his  own  fortune  to  the  estab 
lishment  of  a  great  principle,  he  had  no  right  to  take 
the  same  liberty  with  that  of  another,  intrusted  to  his 
management.  I  ventured  to  insinuate  something  of 
the  sort. 

"Pshaw!  George,"  replied  his  Excellency,  "you 
will  never  make  a  great  patriot,  I'm  afraid.  Is  not 
the  major  greater  than  the  minor?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir." 

"  Is  not  a  community  greater  than  an  individual  ?  " 

"  Assuredly,  sir." 

"  Is  not  the  good  of  the  whole,  the  good  of  all  its 
parts  ?  " 

"  Clearly,  sir." 

"  Well,  sir !,  is  not  the  establishment  of  a  great 
principle,  on  which  depends  the  happiness  of  millions, 
of  far  more  moment  than  the  temporary  inconvenience 
you  will  feel  from  the  loss  of  your  fortune  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  I,  very  faintly. 

"  Good —  I  believe  I  shall  make  something  of  you 
at  last.  You  are  worthy  of  the  confidence  of  your 
fellow-citizens.  Now  listen  to  me.  Another  election 
is  coming  on,  which  involves  another  great  principle, 
on  which  depends  the  salvation  of  the  country  and 


THE   POLITICIAN.  353 

the  happiness  of  unborn  millions.  A  great  state  road 
is  to  be  laid  out  by  the  next  legislature,  and  I  have  it 
from  excellent  authority,  that,  if  we  do  not  exert  our 
selves,  it  will  be  carried  over  a  part  of  the  country  so 
distant  from  my  property,  and  that  of  my  best  friends, 
as  to  do  us  rather  an  injury  than  a  benefit.  Now, 
though  I  am  interested  in  this  business,  that  is  my 
misfortune.  It  is  the  great  principle  dependent  upon 
the  decision  of  the  question  that  I  am  solicitous  to 
vindicate.  My  intention  is  to  get  you  into  the  legis 
lature,  provided  you  will  pledge  yourself  to  stand  in 
the  breach,  and  prevent  the  destruction  of  our  liberties, 
which  mainly  depend  upon  the  great  principle  in 
volved  in  this  road-bill.  What  say  you,  —  will  you 
pledge  yourself  to  your  constituents  ?  " 

"Why,  sir  — if— " 

"  O,  none  of  your  ifs,  George  —  you'll  never  make 
a  great  politician  if  you  stumble  before  an  if." 

"  But  my  conscience,  sir." 

"  Your  conscience !  "  —  cried  his  Excellency  the 
Honourable  Peleg  —  "  Conscience !  Who  ever  heard 
of  a  representative  of  the  people  having  a  conscience  ? 
Why,  sir,  his  conscience  belongs  to  his  constituents, 
who  think  for  him  and  decide  for  him.  One  half  the 
time  it  is  his  duty  to  act  in  the  very  teeth  of  his  con 
science.  He  is  only  the  whistle  on  which  the  people 
blow  any  tune  they  please." 

"  It  appears  to  me,  sir,  that  this  doctrine  is  rather 
immoral." 

"  Immoral!"  —  cried  his  Excellency,  throwing  him 
self  back  in  his  chair,  and  laughing  ;  —  "  immoral ! 
What  has  morality  to  do  with  the  establishment  of  a 

23 


354  THE   POLITICIAN. 

great  principle?  I  ought  to  have  made  a  tailor  of 
you,  I  see. 

"  Lookee,  George,"  continued  his  Excellency,  after 
he  had  laughed  himself  out,  "  every  young  man  who 
devotes  himself  to  political  life  must,  in  the  outset,  if 
he  wishes  to  be  successful,  surrender  his  opinions  and 
feelings  entirely  to  the  establishment  of  certain  great 
radical  principles.  He  must  have  neither  morals  nor 
conscience.  All  he  has  to  do  is  to  inquire  whether  a 
thing  is  necessary  to  the  establishment  of  these  prin 
ciples,  and  do  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  although  ab 
stractedly  and  in  itself  it  may  be  in  the  teeth  of  law 
and  gospel.  For  instance,  George  —  why,  you  are 
looking  at  that  pretty  girl,  Silent  Parley,  instead  of 
listening  to  me !  You  will  never  make  a  politician." 

I  begged  his  Excellency's  pardon,  and  he  pro 
ceeded  :  — 

"  For  instance,  suppose  you  were,  like  myself,  in  a 
high  official  situation,  and  were  solicited  by  two  per 
sons  to  do  two  things  directly  opposite  in  their  nature 
and  consequences  ;  —  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  would  inquire  into  the  matter;  ascertain,  if  pos 
sible,  which  was  right;  and  act  accordingly." 

"  You  would !  Then  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  you 
would  soon  be  sent  to  raise  cabbages  and  pumpkins 
on  your  farm.  No,  sir;  your  duty  would  be  to  in 
quire  and  ascertain  whether  the  great  principle,  on 
which  depended  your  remaining  in  office,  would  be 
best  sustained  by  complying  with  the  wishes  of  the 
one  or  the  other  of  the  persons  soliciting  your  inter 
est.  Having  found  this  out,  there  would  be  no  fur 
ther  difficulty  in  the  matter.  You  would  of  course 
decide  upon  principle." 


THE   POLITICIAN.  355 

"  Principle,  sir !  Why  really,  excuse  me,  your  Ex 
cellency,  but  this  is  what  the  country  folks  call  being 
governed  by  interest,  not  principle." 

"  Pooh,  George !,  your  head  is  not  longer  than  a 
pin's  ;  —  can  you  comprehend  a  syllogism  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so,  sir,  if  it  has  a  sufficiency  of  legs." 

"  Very  well,"  continued  his  Excellency  —  "certain 
principles  are  necessary  to  the  salvation  of  the  state 
and  the  happiness  of  unborn  millions :  I  advocate 
these  principles :  ergo,  it  is  necessary  to  the  salvation 
of  the  state  and  the  happiness  of  unborn  millions 
that  I  should  be  chosen  governor,  and  should  repay 
my  champions,  as  far  as  it  may  be  in  my  power. 
Now,  sir,  as  to  my  own  personal  interests :  here  is  the 
point  in  which  the  talents  of  a  great  man  are  most 
critically  tested ;  I  mean,  in  making  his  interests  and 
his  principles  harmonize.  If  he  can  do  this,  he  is  fit 
to  govern  the  whole  universe ;  if  not,  he  is  fit  for  noth 
ing  but  a  mechanic.  For  how  can  it  be  supposed 
that  a  man  who  neglects  his  own  interests  can  take 
care  of  those  of  other  people  ?  " 

The  logic  of  his  Excellency  the  Honourable  Peleg 
Peashell,  Esquire,  was  conclusive,  and  I  agreed  to 
vote  against  my  conscience,  for  the  good  of  rny  coun 
try,  if  necessary ;  after  which  I  sallied  forth,  and  over 
took  the  pretty  Silence  Parley.  It  was  a  delightful 
summer  afternoon,  or  rather  evening,  for  the  twilight 
had  put  on  its  cloak  of  gray  obscurity,  and  we  walked 
along  the  hard  white  sand  of  the  quiet  bay,  arm-in 
arm,  sometimes  talking,  and  sometimes  looking  at 
one  another  in  delicious  meditation.  She  was  worth 
a  description  ;  but  my  story  is  one  of  principle,  and  I 
shall  touch  on  such  trifles  as  love  and  woman  only  so 


356  THE   POLITICIAN. 

far  as  is  necessary  to  my  purpose.  After  I  had  sacri 
ficed  my  kind  friend  and  neighbour,  Brookfield,  and 
his  family,  on  the  altar  of  principle,  I  never  could 
bear  to  look  Deliverance  in  the  face  again.  Indeed, 
the  mother  soon  after  carried  her  family  to  her  friends 
in  a  distant  part  of  the  country,  and  I  saw  them  no 
more.  Next  to  Deliverance  Brookfield,  Miss  Silence 
Parley  was  the  fairest  of  our  maidens,  who  all  were 
fair,  if  rosy  cheeks,  round  glowing  figures,  and  sky- 
clear  eyes,  could  make  them  so.  She  was  likely  to  be 
an  heiress,  too  ;  and  the  Honourable  Peleg  hinted  to 
me  one  day  that  it  would  marvellously  conduce  to  the 
triumph  of  a  great  principle,  if  I  could  win  and  wear  her. 

"  For,"  said  he,  "  her  father  is  a  man  of  a  good  deal 
of  political  influence,  which  he  does  not  choose  to 
exert,  being  one  of  those  selfish  blockheads  who  prefer 
peace  and  quiet  to  the  salvation  of  unborn  millions. 
If  you  could  marry  his  daughter,  I  dare  say  he  would 
come  out  in  favour  of  the  great  principle." 

This  time,  for  a  great  wonder  I  think  —  (for  it  is 
the  only  time  it  happened  to  me  in  my  whole  career) 
—  this  time,  my  principles  chimed  in  with  my  inter 
ests,  and  I  determined,  if  possible,  to  charm  the  fair 
Silence  into  speaking  to  the  purpose.  We  were 
often  together  alone  in  the  modest,  humble,  twilight, 
walking  and  talking,  or  sitting  and  silent.  We  ex 
changed  looks  and  little  civilities,  that  spoke  expres 
sive  meanings ;  and,  in  short,  it  was  not  long  before  I 
saw  in  the  eyes  of  my  pretty  Silence  the  signal  of 
surrender.  I  had  not  actually  offered  myself,  but  I 
had  determined  upon  it ;  when  the  election  approached 
near  at  hand,  on  which  the  great  principle,  whether 
the  great  state  road  should  pass  through  the  property 


THE   POLITICIAN.  357 

of  the  Honourable  Dibble  Dibblee,  innkeeper,  of  Dib- 
bleeville,  or  of  his  Excellency  the  Honouiable  Peleg 
Peashell,  Esquire,  cash-store-keeper  at  Peashellville, 
and  (consequently)  the  salvation  of  unborn  millions, 
depended. 

His  Excellency  the  Honourable  Peleg  one  day  took 
occasion  to  hint  to  me,  that  it  might  be  as  well  to 
sound  the  Honourable  Peabody  Parley,  Esquire,  the 
father  of  my  pretty  Silence,  as  to  his  using  his  influ 
ence  in  my  behalf  in  the  coming  struggle  of  principle. 

"  I  had  better  ask  his  consent  to  marry  his  daugh 
ter,  first,"  said  I. 

"  No,  sir;  you  had  better  ask  for  his  support,  first," 
replied  his  Excellency,  peremptorily. 

Accordingly  1  went  to  the  Honourable  Peabody 
Parley  —  there  were  as  many  Honourables  in  our 
little  state  as  hidalgos  in  Spain  —  I  went  and  asked 
his  support  in  attaining  the  high  honour  of  being 
elected  a  member  of  the  legislature  in  the  coming 
contest  of  principle.  The  Honourable  Peabody  told 
me  frankly  he  would  do  no  such  thing,  unless  I 
pledged  myself  to  use  all  my  influence  in  getting  the 
great  state  road  laid  out  so  as  to  run  through  a  part 
of  his  property,  where  he  was  going  to  found  a  city. 
This  was  in  direct  opposition  to  the  great  principle  of 
the  Honourable  Peleg  Peashell,  whose  property  lay 
in  the  other  extreme  of  the  state.  I  required  time  for 
consideration,  and  went  to  consult  my  guardian.  He 
shook  his  head,  and  was  angry. 

"  You  must  go  and  pay  your  addresses  to  Miss 
Welcome  Hussey  Bashaba,  daughter  to  the  Honour 
able  Jupiter  Ammon  Deodatus  Bumstead,  of  Bum- 
steadvilleton,  as  soon  as  possible." 


358  THE   POLITICIAN. 

"  But,  sir,  Miss  Hussey  Bashaba  is  as  ugly  as  a 
stone  fence  with  a  flounce  and  fashionable  bonnet  on 
it." 

"  No  matter,  the  safety  of  the  country  and  the  sal 
vation  of  unborn  millions  depend  on  it." 

"  But,  I  am  all  but  engaged  to  Miss  Silence  Parley  ; 
I  have  committed  myself." 

"  No  matter ;  the  triumph  of  principle  will  be  the 
greater." 

"  How  so,  sir  ?  "  replied  I,  rather  perplexed  at  this 
mystery. 

"  How  so  ?  Why,  the  Honourable  Mr.  Bumstead 
is  the  proprietor  of  a  manufactory  which  can  turn  out 
votes  enough  to  carry  the  election.  You  must  be  off 
at  once,  for  the  great  contest  of  principle  approaches." 

I  mounted  my  horse,  after  a  sore  struggle  between 
my  heart  and  the  great  political  principle,  and  pro 
ceeded  towards  the  stately  shingle-palace  of  my 
prospective  father-in-law,  to  visit  my  intended,  the 
redoubtable  Miss  Welcome  Hussey  Bashaba  Bum- 
stead,  the  daughter,  the  only  daughter,  of  the 
Honourable  Jupiter  Ammon  Deodatus  Bumstead,  of 
Bumsteadvilleton,  the  best  manufacturing  seat  in  the 
state,  with  a  great  power  of  water.  My  horse,  being 
no  politician,  and  withal  a  most  unprincipled  quadru 
ped,  stopped  stock-still  at  the  gate  which  led  to  the 
abode  of  Miss  Silence  Parley.  She  was  standing  on 
the  piazza,  looking  like  a  rosy  sylph,  expecting  me,  for 
she  had  seen  me  afar  off.  My  horse  was  obstinate, 
and,  though  I  confess  I  pricked  him  on  violently  with 
my  spurs,  I  held  the  rein  so  tight  that  he  could  do 
nothing  but  rear.  This  frightened  my  pretty  Silence, 
who  screamed,  and  ran  to  open  the  gate. 


THE   POLITICIAN.  359 

She  begged  me  to  dismount,  and  lead  my  horse  in. 

"  I  cannot,  just  now,"  said  I,  in  a  sneaking,  snivel 
ling  tone  ;  "I  am  going  on  to  Bumsteadvilleton." 

"  To  see  Miss  Hussey  Bashaba  ?  ",  said  she,  with  a 
mischievous  smile  of  meaning, — for  Miss  Hussey 
was  the  reigning  she-dragon  of  the  whole  county. 

"  No,"  said  I,  with  the  face  of  a  robber  of  a  hen 
roost  ;  "  no,  I'm  going  to  buy  some  cotton  shirting." 

I  could  stand  it  no  longer.  I  clapped  spurs  to  my 
horse;  she  waved  her  lily  hand,  whiter  than  snow; 
and  I  was  out  of  sight  in  a  minute.  It  was  the  great 
est  triumph  of  principle  I  ever  achieved. 

The  Honourable  Jupiter  Amrnon  Deodatus  re 
ceived  me  as  he  received  only  his  best  customers; 
and  Miss  Hussey  Bashaba  smiled  upon  me  like  a 
roaring  lion.  There  is  one  great  comfort  in  ad 
dressing  a  very  ugly  woman  —  she  don't  require 
much  wooing,  provided  she  is  a  reasonable  creature. 
Neither  are  parents  very  impracticable  in  cases  of  this 
kind.  The  Honourable  Jupiter  Ammon  promised  me 
his  support,  and  I  promised  to  take  his  daughter.  We 
were  married  in  a  week.  The  Honourable  Jupiter 
Ammon  brought  out  his  two  hundred  ragamuffins, 
all  men  of  clear  estate,  if  not  freeholders.  I  was  elect 
ed  by  a  handsome  majority ;  and  again  the  triumph 
of  principle,  on  which  depended  the  salvation  of  un 
born  millions,  was  completed,  at  the  trifling  expense 
of  the  mere  sacrifice  of  a  few  insignificant  morali 
ties,  of  no  consequence  but  to  the  owner. 

The  aggregated  wisdom  of  the  state,  of  which  I 
formed  one  twentieth  part  at  least,  met  in  good  time. 
His  Excellency,  the  Honourable  Peleg  Peashell,  de 
livered  a  speech  to  both  Houses,  in  which  he  took  a 


360  THE   POLITICIAN. 

rapid  view  of  the  creation  of  the  world  —  man  in  a 
state  of  nature  —  the  want  of  principle  in  the  oppo 
sition —  the  profligacy  of  certain  leading  politicians; 
recomrn ended  a  loan,  six  canals,  nine  railroads,  and 
seventeen  banks ;  and  concluded  with  a  touch  of 
piety  that  brought  tears  into  our  eyes,  as  he  thanked 
Heaven  for  having  achieved  this  last  great  triumph 
of  principle. 

The  assembly  was  divided,  as  usual,  on  a  great 
principle,  different  from  that  on  which  the  famous  toll- 
bridge  rested.  The  great  question  on  which  the  great 
principle  was  based  on  which  the  salvation  of  unborn 
millions  depended  was,  whether  the  great  state  road 
was  to  diverge  fifteen  degrees  thirty  seven  minutes 
West,  or  fifteen  degrees  thirty  seven  minutes  East- 
north-east.  Such  is  the  influence  of  propinquity  in 
questions  of  this  sort,  that  it  exercised  complete  sway 
on  this  occasion.  In  proportion  as  a  member  had  a 
propinquity  towards  the  west  line  or  the  east,  precisely 
in  the  same  degree  did  the  great  fundamental  princi 
ple  which  governed  his  actions  incline  in  that  direc 
tion ;  and -so  intimate  was  the  association  between 
principle  and  interest,  that,  had  I  not  actually  known 
to  the  contrary  by  my  own  experience,  I  should  have 
supposed  they  were  one  and  the  same  thing.  But 
there  were  minor  principles,  operating  in  subordina 
tion  to  that  of  the  great  state  road.  One  member, 
for  example,  was  principled  against  voting  for  any 
state  road  at  all,  unless  the  friends  of  the  road  would 
vote  for  his  canal.  Another  would  not  so  far  prosti 
tute  his  principles  as  to  vote  for  the  canal,  unless  the 
friends  of  the  canal  would  support  his  application  for 
a  bank.  In  the  end,  finding  the  principles  of  the 


THE   POLITICIAN.  361 

members  to  be  absolutely  incompatible,  we  hit  upon 
an  arrangement  which  was  perfectly  satisfactory  to 
the  most  tender  conscience,  and  came  up  to  the  great 
principle  by  which  every  member  was  governed.  The 
proposition  was  moved  by  myself,  at  the  suggestion 
of  his  Excellency  the  Honourable  Peleg  Peashell, 
Esquire,  Governor  and  Captain- General  of  the  little 
state  with  so  many  banks  and  great  men.  My  plan 
was  no  other  than  to  jumble  together  in  one  bill, 
roads,  canals,  and  banks,  by  which  the  principles  of 
all  would  be  perfectly  satisfied,  and  their  scruples 
quieted  for  ever.  After  amending  the  proposition,  at 
the  instance  of  a  philanthropist,  by  a  donation  of  five 
hundred  dollars  to  the  society  for  the  prevention  of 
tippling,  the  whole  was  rolled  through  triumphantly. 
Every  body's  principles  were  put  to  rest,  and  every 
man  had  lent  a  hand  to  the  salvation  of  unborn 
millions.  Such  is  the  magic  of  public  virtue !  There 
were  scarcely  half  a  dozen  members  agreeing  in  the 
first  instance,  yet  so  strong  was  the  spirit  of  friendly 
compromise,  that  in  the  end  every  member,  (with  but 
one  exception),  voted  for  the  bill,  solely  on  the  score 
of  principle  —  of  doing  as  he  would  be  done  unto. 
The  dissentient  was  a  member  who  so  far  forgot  his 
duty  to  his  country  as  actually  to  be  without  a  pro 
ject  for  her  benefit.  Having  nothing  to  ask,  he  was 
unwilling  to  give  any  thing  away,  and  voted  against 
my  proposition. 

It  was  on  this  occasion  I  delivered  my  maiden 
speech.  Public  expectation  was  on  tiptoe ;  the  boys 
climbed  up  to  the  windows  of  the  state  house  ;  the 
ladies  of  the  Honourable  Abel  Rooney  the  Honoura 
ble  Peartree  Brombush  and  the  Honourable  Roger 


362  THE   POLITICIAN. 

Pegg,  with  their  twenty-seven  blooming  and  marriage 
able  daughters,  seated  themselves  in  front  of  the  gal 
lery ;  and  the  Speaker  cried  silence,  and  rattled  his 
hammer  so  that  his  tobacco-box  bounced  off  the  table. 
I  was  penetrated  with  the  justice  of  my  cause,  the 
great  principle  involved  in  the  question,  and  the 
dignity  of  my  auditory.  I  began  :  — 
"  Sir-r-r ! 

"  If  I  possessed  the  power  to  flash  conviction, 
as  the  lightning  does  upon  the  bosom  of  the  thunder 
cloud,  redundant  with  fire  and  brimstone  :  Sir-r-r,  if  I 
could  wrest  from  the  sceptre  —  I  mean,  if  I  could  wrest 
the  sceptre  from  reason,  and  rob  the  spheres  of  the 
music  of  their  voices :  Sir-r-r,  if  I  could,  by  any  effort 
of  this  feeble  hand  and  tremulous  body,  pour  the 
tremendous  and  overwhelming  flood  of  conviction 
like  a  wall  of  adamant  over  your  souls,  until  they 
melted  in  the  red-hot  embers  of  conviction  :  Sir-r-r,  if 
I  could  freeze  your  hearts  till  they  offered  an  icy  bar 
rier  to  the  intrusion  of  all  selfish  considerations,  and 
reared  the  massy  column  of  their  waters  up  to  the 
topmost  pinnacle  of  the  arching  skies:  Sir-r-r,  if  I 
could  swallow  up,  at  a  single  effort  of  my  imagina 
tion,  the  possibility  of  believing  it  possible  that  the 
cries  of  the  orphan,  the  bewailings  of  reckless  and 
wretched  poverty  —  the  exhortations  of  the  halt,  the 
dumb,  and  the  deaf —  the  mother's  groans  —  the  weep 
ing  stones  —  the  orphan's  moans"  — 

Here  I  was  interrupted  by  a  burst  of  hysterical 
tears  from  the  beautiful  blue  eyes  of  the  widow  of 
the  Honourable  Roger  Pegg,  who  was  carried  home 
in  a  state  of  suppuration.  This  was  the  greatest 


THE   POLITICIAN.  363 

triumph  of  eloquence  ever  witnessed  in  our  state.  I 
cannot  go  through  the  whole  of  my  speech.  It  lasted 
eight  hours  and  three  quarters,  and  I  should  have 
made  it  nine,  had  not  all  the  candles  gone  out,  and 
left  me  and  my  subject  in  utter  darkness.  The  reader 
may  judge  of  its  length  from  the  fact,  that  it  was  as 
certained  by  an  industrious  old  person  who  could  not 
bear  to  be  idle,  that  the  word  "  Sir,"  occurred  three 
hundred,  the  monosyllable  "  I,"  five  hundred,  and 
the  word  "principle,"  six  hundred  and  thirty  times  — 
the  word  "  interest,"  not  once.  Can  there  be  any 
higher  proof  of  the  purity  of  my  motives?  The  next 
day  the  Banner  of  Truth  published  my  speech,  of 
which  I  had  given  a  copy  beforehand,  pronouncing  it 
at  the  same  time  superior  to  the  best  efforts  of  the 
three  great  orators  of  antiquity,  Marcus,  Tullius,  and 
Cicero. 

I  was  now  fairly  launched  upon  the  billows  of 
immortal  glory  —  so  said  the  Banner  of  Truth.  The 
little  state  rung  with  my  exploit,  as  if  it  had  been 
a  second  victory  of  New  Orleans,  and  people  began 
to  talk  of  me  for  Congress.  The  Honourable  George 
Gregory  Oakford,  (for  I  too  had  become  Honourable), 
was  the  luminary  of  the  age ;  and,  as  an  evidence  of 
his  rising  importance,  divers  worthy  persons,  (such  as 
men  out  of  employ  or  who  had  made  a  bad  bank 
ruptcy  for  themselves,  and  young  gentlemen  too  idle 
for  useful  employment  and  too  poor  to  figure  without 
it),  paid  him  their  most  particular  devoirs,  and  hung 
to  his  skirts,  like  so  many  cockles.  All  these  were 
impelled  by  an  instinctive  perception,  such  as  animates 
the  canine  race  to  wag  their  tails  and  fawn,  even 
upon  the  beggar  who  hath  a  bone  to  throw  away. 


364  THE   POLITICIAN. 

But,  though  a  great  man  myself,  there  were  still 
greater  men  than  I  in  "  our  town."  I  mean  the  mem 
bers  of  the  general  committees  and  of  the  nominating 
committees;  and,  greatest  of  all,  the  gentlemen  who 
give  the  impulse  and  govern  the  course  of  the  current 
by  a  certain  mysterious  influence,  as  inscrutable  as 
that  which  gives  a  direction  to  the  winds.  Though 
the  study  and  experience  of  a  whole  life  have  pretty 
well  initiated  me  into  the  depths  of  political  alchemy, 
I  confess  I  could  never  fathom  the  obscurity  of  this 
part  of  the  science.  I  could  never  reach  the  head  of 
the  tide,  though  I  floated  on  its  surface  so  long;  nor 
have  I  ever  to  this  day  had  a  clear  perception  of  the 
means  by  which  certain  dull,  stupid  men,  often  with 
out  a  tolerable  reputation,  and  destitute  of  wealth, 
contrive  to  lead  the  people  as  they  do,  and  keep  the 
great  leaders  themselves  in  most  abject  subjection. 
It  may  be  that  the  majority  of  mankind  are  wise 
enough  to  know,  that  those  who  are  most  on  a  par 
with  them  and  mix  the  most  familiarly  in  their  daily 
concerns,  whose  interests  are  in  fact  identified  with 
their  own,  are  their  best  and  safest  counsellors,  and 
that  thus,  after  all,  the  popularity  of  a  great  man 
is  derived  not  so  much  from  the  splendour  of  his 
actions,  as  from  the  secret  influence  of  very  ordinary 
men  over  their  friends  and  neighbours. 

As  the  triumph  of  a  great  principle  and  the  salva 
tion  of  unborn  millions  depended  so  materially  upon 
the  predominance  of  the  party  to  which  I  had  become 
attached,  I  did  not  consider  myself  above  courting 
these  masters  of  the  people  by  every  means  in  my 
power.  I  sought  them  out  at  their  employments, 
talked  politics  with  them,  or  rather  heard  them  talk, 


THE   POLITICIAN.  365 

which  is  by  much  the  more  effectual  mode,  and 
agreed  with  them  whenever  I  could  find  out  what 
they  meant.  I  brought  one  of  these,  an  honest  shoe 
maker,  nearly  to  the  brink  of  starvation,  by  causing 
him  to  neglect  his  business  from  day  to  day,  in  dis 
cussing  the  eternal,  invariable  principles,  which  gov 
erned  toll-bridges  and  turnpike-roads.  I  invited 
these  worthy  men,  (for  worthy  and  well-meaning  men 
a  great  many  of  them  were),  to  my  house,  and  hinted 
to  Mrs.  Hussey  Bashaba  Oakford  the  propriety  of 
drinking  tea  with  their  wives,  socially,  and  asking 
them  in  return.  But  Mrs.  Hussey  Bashaba  was  one 
of  those  unreasonable  women  that  boast  themselves  — 
"  mistress  in  my  own  house."  She  was,  to  be  sure,  no 
beauty,  but  she  was  an  heiress,  in  perspective  at  least, 
though  as  yet  her  only  dowry  had  been  the  two  hun 
dred  votes  of  the  ragamuffin  freeholders,  a  dozen  ta 
ble  and  tea  spoons,  and  a  looking-glass.  But  she  had 
mighty  expectations,  and  acted  accordingly. 

My  wife  treated  the  committee-men  with  sour 
looks  from  one  of  the  ugliest  faces  in  the  state,  and 
contrived  so  many  ingenious  ways  to  make  them  un 
easy,  that  I  was  surprised  at  her  talents.  If  one  of 
the  honest  gentlemen  by  accident  spilled  the  ashes 
from  his  pipe  on  the  hearth,  Mrs.  Bashaba  would 
jump  up  extempore,  seize  the  brush,  and  exercise  it 
with  a  most  significant  and  irritable  vivacity.  If  an 
other  chanced  to  bring  in  a  small  tribute  from  mother 
Earth,  upon  his  independent  and  sovereign  shoes,  she 
would  forthwith  ask  me,  with  a  peculiar  emphasis, 
whether  the  scraper  had  been  stolen  from  the  door. 
But  woe  to  the  committee-man  who  dared,  by  any 
lapsus  linguce,  to  expectorate  on  the  floor!  Mrs.  Hus- 


366  THE   POLITICIAN. 

sey  Bash  aba  would  scream  for  the  help  to  come  with 
a  tub  of  water  and  a  brush,  and  set  her  scrubbing 
away  before  the  good  man's  face.  As  to  the  wives 
of  the  committee,  they  came  once,  and  once  only. 
Mrs.  Bashaba  talked  all  the  time  about  her  papa's 
house,  factory,  work-people,  and  all  that,  and  made 
such  a  display  of  importance  that  they  never  ap 
proached  us  again.  To  one  she  said,  "  What  a  pity 
it  is  you  can't  afford  to  put  new  panes  of  glass  in 
your  broken  windows  !  "  To  another,  "  How  sorry  I 
am,  my  dear  Mrs.  Artichoke,  your  husband  is  not 
rich  enough  to  build  a  new  house!  Are  you  not 
afraid  that  yours  will  fall,  one  of  these  days  ?  For  my 
part,  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  sleep  a  wink  in  it."  And 
to  a  third,  "  La,  my  dear  Mrs.  Birdseye,  when  did  you 
lose  those  two  front  teeth  ?  I  declare  it  makes  you 
look  twenty  years  older."  The  committee-men  and 
their  wives  went  home,  all  in  a  huff  with  myself 
and  my  better  half. 

"  My  dear,"  said  I,  soothingly,  "  you  have  endan 
gered  the  success  of  a  great  principle,  and  the  salva 
tion  of  unborn  millions." 

«  The  salvation  of  a  fiddlestick ! "  said  Mrs.  Ba 
shaba  :  "  I  can't  bear  such  vulgar  people.  Why,  they 
eat  out  of  trenchers,  and  use  wooden  spoons,  like 
pigs." 

"  I  never  heard  that  pigs  used  wooden  spoons," 
said  I,  innocently. 

"  You  never  heard  !  Huh !,  of  what  consequence  is 
it  what  you  have  heard  ?  People  brought  up  in  a 
pigsty  seldom  have  an  ear  for  music,"  said  Mrs.  Ba 
shaba,  as  she  proceeded  to  blow  the  dust  off  the  chairs 
and  tables  with  her  aromatic  breath. 


THE   POLITICIAN.  367 

My  wife  was  certainly  right  in  valuing  herself  on 
her  breeding. 

The  untoward  behaviour  of  Mrs.  Bashaba  had  well- 
nigh  jeopardized  the  great  principle,  and  destroyed 
the  hopes  of  posterity.  A  fortunate  accident,  or,  per 
haps,  a  providential  interposition,  prevented  the  wo- 
ful  catastrophe.  This  was  the  stoppage  of  a  bank  in 
a  remote  corner  of  the  state ;  but  which,  distant  as  it 
was,  exercised  a  vast  influence  on  the  affairs  of  peo 
ple  far  and  near.  This  moneyed  institution,  having 
no  capital,  had  borrowed  the  stock  of  another  mon 
eyed  institution  in  the  like  predicament,  and  secured 
the  capital  thus  paid  in  by  a  similar  loan  of  its  own 
stock.  Both  then  fell  to  issuing  bills  like  wildfire, 
and  lending  money  —  paper-money  —  to  any  person 
who  could  offer  them  the  ghost  of  a  security.  My 
worthy  father-in-law,  the  Honourable  Jupiter  Ammon 
Bumstead,  was  one  of  those  shadows  which  become 
substance  by  the  magic  operation  of  modern  finan 
ciering.  He  borrowed  money,  built  a  manufactory 
of  coarse  cottons,  and  a  town  which  he  called  Bum- 
steadvilleton,  together  with  a  shingle-palace  of  infinite 
dimensions.  The  twin  banks  got  on  very  well  for  a 
time,  by  redeeming  the  bills  of  one  with  the  bills  of 
the  other.  The  Cow  and  Grass  Company  paid  the 
notes  of  the  Wool  and  Comb  Company,  like  a  good 
sister :  and  vice  versa.  Thus  they  supported  each 
other  in  the  journey  of  life.  At  last,  however,  some 
malicious  and  unreasonable  person  made  a  demand 
of  three  hundred  dollars  in  silver.  The  Cow  and 
Grass  offered  the  notes  of  the  Wool  and  Comb,  but 
it  would  not  do ;  the  Cow  and  Grass  fell  against  the 
Wool  and  Comb,  the  Wool  and  Comb  against  the 


368  THE   POLITICIAN. 

establishment  of  Bumsteadvilleton,  and  the  Honour 
able  Mr.  Bumstead  was  reduced  to  his  original  shad 
ow  again.  It  was  the  old  story  of  the  boy  that 
bought  the  pig.  "  The  butcher  began  to  kill  the  ox, 
the  ox  began  to  drink  the  water,  the  water  to  quench 
the  fire,  the  fire  to  burn  the  stick,  the  stick  to  lick  the 
pig,"  and  the  pig  at  last  went  to  school ;  but  without 
being  a  whit  the  wiser.  The  president  of  the  Cow 
and  Grass,  who  was  a  member  of  the  legislature,  in 
a  paroxysm  of  indignation,  moved  that  the  bills  of 
both  these  moneyed  institutions  should  be  burnt. 
Another  member  moved  to  strike  out  the  word, 
"bills,"  and  insert  the  words,  "presidents,  cashiers, 
and  directors."  Among  all  the  members  of  our  hon 
ourable  body,  there  was  but  one  man  —  the  mover  of 
the  amendment  —  that  was  not  either  president  or  di 
rector  of  some  bank.  The  amendment  was  voted 
down,  unanimously;  the  great  principle  of  banking 
triumphed ;  and  the  salvation  of  unborn  millions  was 
placed  upon  the  eternal  basis  of  paper-money.  On 
this  occasion  I  made  another  speech,  which  would  have 
convinced  every  member  present  but  one,  had  they  not 
been  convinced  already.  If  the  reader  is  a  tolerable 
politician,  he  will  know  that  there  are  two  kinds  of 
speeches  —  one  for  the  people  within,  the  other  for 
the  people  without.  The  latter  are  by  far  the  more 
numerous. 

This  failure  of  the  Cow  and  Grass  was  the  luckiest 
incident  of  my  life.  Ninety-nine  in  a  hundred  of  the 
people  of  our  state  were  dependent  on  the  banks 
in  some  way  or  other,  either  as  debtors  or  stock 
holders.  My  speech  in  favour  of  the  great  principle 
of  banking  gained  all  their  hearts.  The  total  ruin  of 


THE   POLITICIAN.  369 

my  Honourable  father-in-law  actually,  for  a  time, 
made  a  reasonable  woman  of  my  wife,  and  caused 
her  to  treat  the  ladies  of  the  committee-men  with  vast 
courtesy.  The  ladies  of  the  committee-men  began  to 
pity  poor  Mrs.  Oakford  —  and  pity  is  akin  to  forgive 
ness  —  and  the  result  was,  that  the  general  committee 
nominated  me  as  their  candidate  for  Congress  by 
a  majority  of  one :  that  is  to  say,  not  being  able  to 
agree,  the  two  parties  at  length  settled  the  great  prin 
ciple  by  a  throw  of  the  dice.  My  opponents  threw 
cater,  my  friends  cinque,  and  the  choice  was  announced 
as  a  great  triumph  of  principle  over  personal  feelings 
and  private  views. 

Being  thus  triumphantly  nominated  by  the  gene 
ral  committee,  and  endorsed  by  the  sub-committees, 
it  became  the  duty  of  the  people  to  vote  for  me  upon 
principle,  though  it  might  happen  to  be  against  their 
conscience,  thus  magnanimously  sacrificing  all  private 
feelings  and  considerations  to  the  public  good.  In 
vain  did  the  opposite  party  exclaim  against  this  at 
tempt  to  dictate  to  the  people ;  the  people  turned  out 
lustily  in  my  favour,  and  voted  me  in  a  member  of 
Congress,  against  their  consciences,  for  the  sake  of 
the  great  principle.  His  Excellency  the  Honourable 
Peleg  Peashell,  Esquire,  supported  me  with  all  his 
influence,  and  I  him  with  all  mine;  not  because  it 
was  our  mutual  interest  to  do  so,  but  because  our 
interests  were  so  dovetailed  into  the  great  principle 
that  it  was  next  to  impossible  to  separate  them.  In 
the  course  of  this  contest,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  I 
violated  my  conscience,  and  forgot  the  obligations  of 
truth,  justice,  honour,  and  sincerity,  more  than  a  score 
of  times ;  but  the  Honourable  Peleg  had  convinced 

24 


370  THE   POLITICIAN. 

me  it  was  my  duty  as  a  patriot,  to  sacrifice  my  duty 
as  a  man,  on  all  occasions  when  they  came  in  conflict 
with  each  other.  "  The  first  duty  of  a  true  patriot  is 
to  offer  up  his  conscience  on  the  altar  of  the  public 
good,"  said  the  Honourable  Peleg,  my  mentor.  I  con 
fess  I  winced  a  little,  for  the  idea  sometimes  came 
across  me,  that,  as  both  parties  might  possibly  think 
themselves  equally  right  in  the  great  principle,  and 
one  of  them  must  be  in  error,  a  large  portion  of  the 
people  were  offering  up  their  consciences  in  the  wrong 
place.  I  once  propounded  this  doubt  to  the  Honour 
able  Peleg.  "  Pooh !  "  said  he,  "  the  opposite  party 
have  no  conscience ;  they  are  wrong  in  the  great  prin 
ciple,  and  can  be  right  in  nothing  else.  A  person 
radically  wrong  in  political  opinions  is  like  a  man 
with  a  broken  back  ;  he  can't  walk  straight  for  the  life 
of  him."  I  was  satisfied. 

I  departed  for  the  seat  of  government  with  six  long 
stall-fed  speeches  in  my  portmanteau,  for  I  was  de 
termined  to  convince  my  constituents,  at  least,  that 
they  had  not  chosen  a  dummy  to  represent  them.  I 
wanted  to  leave  Mrs.  Hussey  Bashaba  behind,  but  she 
was  a  little  inclined  to  the  green-eyed  monster,  and 
determined  to  share  my  honours.  I  represented  on.ly 
some  thirty  or  forty  thousand  citizens ;  but  my  wife 
represented  the  whole  sex ;  it  was  therefore  but  just 
that  the  majority  should  have  its  way,  and  she  accom 
panied  me  to  the  scene  of  my  future  glories.  People 
who  know  nothing  of  the  value  of  a  unit,  or  even 
a  single  cipher,  when  placed  in  a  particular  relation, 
can  hardly  conceive  the  importance  of  a  member  at 
the  seat  of  government,  where  an  atmosphere  of  mu 
tual  dependence  pervades  the  wThole  social  system. 


THE   POLITICIAN.  371 

There  is  hardly  a  hack-driver  who  is  not  in  some 
measure  the  retainer  of  some  great  man ;  and  even 
the  poor  horses,  if  they  could  speak,  would  undoubt 
edly  proclaim  their  adherence  to  certain  great  funda 
mental  principles.  The  first  time  I  went  with  my 
Bashaba  to  visit  the  lady  of  one  of  the  foreign  min 
isters,  the  horses  stuck  in  the  mud,  and  refused  to 
proceed.  I  scolded  the  hackman.  "  Plase  your  Hon 
our," —  he  was  an  Irishman,  and  all  Irishmen  are 
patriots  —  "  Plase  your  Honour,  they  won't  stir,  upon 
principle." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  ",  said  I. 

"  Plase  you,  they  have  just  found  out  that  they  are 
going  to  visit  the  British  minister,  and  have  made  up 
their  minds  never  to  pay  him  that  honour  till  the 
Catholic  question  is  settled  to  their  satisfaction." 

The  horses  stuck  to  their  principles,  and  stuck  in 
the  mud.  There  seemed  some  truth  in  what  the 
driver  said,  for  the  moment  he  turned  their  heads  the 
other  way  they  trotted  off  gallantly  towards  home. 
The  instinct  of  animals  sometimes  nearly  approaches 
to  the  reason  of  some  men.  I  was  obliged  to  send 
for  horses  of  a  different  party,  or  more  accommodat- 
ing^principles. 

The  first  time  we  were  invited  to  dinner,  my  wife 
was  delighted.  She  was  the  lady  of  a  member,  and 
happened  to  take  precedence  of  all  the  rest.  She  was 
led  into  the  dining-room  by  a  foreign  minister  with  a 
gold-laced  coat;  and  consumed  all  the  next  day  in 
writing  letters  to  the  ladies  of  the  general  committee. 
The  next  time  she  was  not  quite  so  well  pleased,  for 
there  was  a  senator's  lady  present,  and  Mrs.  Bashaba 
fell  to  the  lot  of  an  attache.  What  made  this  the 


372  THE   POLITICIAN. 

more  provoking  was,  that  the  senator's  lady  lived  in 
the  same  hotel  with  us,  and  the  propinquity  made  the 
slight  intolerable.  The  senator's  lady  was  the  delight 
ed  one  now,  and  declared  that  the  seat  of  government 
was  the  most  charming  place  in  the  world.  There 
was  a  great  coolness  for  several  days  on  the  part  of 
Mrs.  Welcome  Bashaba  towards  the  senator's  lady. 
The  third  time,  matters  were  still  worse.  There  was 
a  member-of-the-cabinet's  lady  present,  to  whom  the 
ambassador  was  pledged  by  the  rules  of  etiquette  ;  so 
that  the  senator's  lady  fell  to  the  attache,  and  Mrs. 
Bashaba  to  the  lot  of  a  gentleman  with  no  claim  to 
distinction  but  talents  and  character.  The  senator's 
lady  and  the  lady  of  the  member  came  home  the  best 
friends  in  the  world.  But  the  latter  began  to  be  dis 
gusted  with  the  seat  of  government,  and  became  quite 
homesick.  It  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good. 
Mrs.  Bashaba,  having  been  handed  into  the  supper 
room,  at  a  grand  gala  given  by  a  foreign  minister  in 
honour  of  his  august  sovereign's  birth-day,  by  a  clerk 
in  the  land-office,  insisted  on  going  home  forthwith. 
Had  it  been  a  clerk  in  the  office  of  the  secretary  of 
state,  or  even  any  one  of  the  departments,  it  might 
have  been  borne.  But,  a  clerk  in  the  land-office^, — 
it  was  impossible  to  get  over  the  mortification.  For 
tunately,  an  old  neighbour  of  mine,  nearly  fourscore, 
who  had  come  to  the  seat  of  government,  (with  some 
two  or  three  hundred  more  of  my  constituents),  to 
get  an  appointment,  was  going  home  the  very  next 
day.  Accordingly  I  took  Mrs.  Bashaba  in  the  vein, 
and  sent  her  off  before  she  had  another  chance  of  be 
ing  handed  to  dinner  by  a  foreign  minister.  Previous 
to  her  departure,  she  exacted  of  me  a  promise  to  op- 


THE   POLITICIAN.  373 

pose  the  administration,  and  particularly  the  measures 
of  the  secretary  whose  wife  had  taken  precedence  of 
her  at  the  grand  supper,  on  all  occasions.  I  promised 
—  for  I  would  have  promised  any  thing  to  get  rid  of 
Mrs.  Bashaba  for  the  season  —  and  I  have  the  great 
consolation  of  knowing  that  both  the  honourable 
senator  and  myself  voted  against  the  administration 
all  the  winter,  upon  the  great  principle  of  etiquette, 
which  is  in  fact  the  corner-stone  of  tyranny.  Being 
now  my  own  man,  I  turned  gallant,  flirting  desperate 
ly  with  the  married  dames,  and  still  more  desperately 
with  the  young  ladies,  who  were  delighted  with  the 
attentions  of  a  member.  Let  me  warn  all  my  readers 
who  are  or  expect  to  be  members,  never  to  bring  their 
wives  to  the  seat  of  government.  If  they  are  hand 
some,  they  will  have  all  the  attache's  and  all  the  wid 
owers  pro  tern,  among  the  members  in  their  train; 
and  if  they  are  otherwise,  unless  they  happen  to  be 
angels  outright,  their  curtain-lectures  will  be  terrible. 
But  it  is  time  to  return  to  my  political  career. 

The  first  day  the  House  met,  and  before  a  Speak 
er  was  chosen,  being  resolved  to  lose  no  time  in  con 
vincing  the  world  I  was  somebody,  I  rose  to  make 
a  motion,  and  a  speech  on  the  subject  of  reform. 
"  Mister  Speaker  —  Sir-r-r  "  —  "  Order !  "  cried  the 
clerk,  rattling  his  wooden  hammer.  "  Mister  Speak 
er  —  Sir-r-r,  I  rise  to  "  —  "  Sit  down  —  the  honoura- 
able  member  is  out  of  order;  the  house  is  not  yet 
organized."  An  old  member  on  my  left  apprised  me 
that,  as  there  was  no  Speaker  chosen  yet,  there  could 
be  no  question  debated.  When  that  affair  was  settled, 
I  rose  again  to  make  my  great  motion  on  the  subject 
of  reform.  "  Mister  Speaker —  Sir-r-r-r,  the  republics 


374  THE   POLITICIAN. 

of  Greece  and  Rome  "  —  "  Mr.  Speaker,"  said  an  old 
gray-headed  member,  "  I  am  sorry  to  interrupt  the 
honourable  member  from  —  from  —  somewhere  —  but 
I  beg  to  make  a  motion  that  we  proceed  to  appoint  a 
committee  to  wait  on  the  President,  with  informa 
tion  that  the  House  is  now  organized,  and  ready  to 
receive  any  communication  from  him." 

"  Mister  Speaker,  Sir-r-r,  I  feel  myself  under  an 
awful  responsibility  to  myself,  my  constituents,  my 
country,  and  the  world,  to  oppose  that  motion  ; "  — 
for  I  was  a  little  nettled  at  this  interruption. 

"  The  motion  is  not  debatable,"  replied  the  Speaker, 
mildly. 

I  sat  down,  provoked  and  mortified  beyond  measure, 
for  I  was  ready  to  overflow  in  a  torrent  of  eloquence. 
The  reading  of  the  message,  and  other  formalities, 
took  up  the  whole  morning;  and  the  house  adjourned 
without  hearing  my  speech.  Thus,  like  Titus,  I  lost 
a  day ;  but  I  made  myself  all  the  amends  in  rny 
power,  by  speaking  it  that  night  in  my  chamber  to 
two  chairs,  a  three-legged  stool,  and  a  chalk  bust  of 
Cicero  with  a  broken  pedestal,  which,  at  every  gestic 
ulation  I  made,  nodded  approbation. 

My  next  attempt  at  a  speech  on  reform  was  quite 
unpremeditated.  It  happened  that  a  party  of  ladies 
came  into  the  gallery  of  the  house;  and  among  them 
was  one  with  whom  I  was  engaged  in  a  fashionable 
flirtation  for  the  season.  I  wished  above  all  things  to 
dazzle  her  with  a  speech ;  for,  at  the  seat  of  govern 
ment,  making  a  speech  is  equivalent  to  gaining  a 
great  victory  by  sea  or  land. 

The  moment  I  saw  rny  belle  in  the  gallery,  the 
fervor  of  eloquence  seized  me.  Luckily,  at  that 


THE   POLITICIAN.  375 

blessed  crisis,  a  member  sat  down,  after  a  speech  of 
three  days,  apologizing  to  the  house  that  exhaustion 
and  fatigue  prevented  his  going  deeper  into  the  sub 
ject.  In  my  haste,  I  unfortunately  began  the  one  of 
my  six  stall-fed  speeches  least  applicable  to  the  ques 
tion  before  the  house,  which  related  to  the  Cumber 
land  road,*  a  road  that  would  be  the  very  best  upon 
earth,  if  speeches  could  keep  it  in  repair.  My  speech, 
which  was  the  first  of  my  budget  I  could  get  at,  was 
on  the  occupation  of  the  territory  of  Oregon. 

I  set  out  from  the  seat  of  government  without  in 
terruption,  every  now  and  then  cocking  my  eye  at  the 
divinity  who  inspired  me  in  the  gallery;  and  was 
puffing  and  blowing  about  half-way  up  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  when  a  member  called  me  to  order. 

"  The  honourable  gentleman  is  not  speaking  to  the 
question.  The  Cumberland  road  does  not  cross  the 
Rocky  Mountains." 

"  Let  the  gentleman  go  on,"  exclaimed  a  clear,  high- 
toned  voice,  in  a  wicked  Cervantesque  way,  —  "let 
the  gentleman  alone ;  he  is  only  making  a  voyage 
round  the  world,  and  will  certainly  cross  the  latitude 
or  longitude  of  his  subject,  some  time  or  other." 

This  sally  occasioned  a  good  deal  of  merriment, 
and  I  saw  the  loadstar  of  my  eloquence  showing  her 
ivory  teeth  on  the  occasion.  I  became  confused ; 
struck  in  upon  another  of  my  six  stall-fed  speeches ; 
wandered  from  that  into  a  third ;  and  finally  jumbled 
them  all  together  into  a  mass  of  incongruity,  unut- 


*  The  act  for  laying  out  a  road  from  Cumberland  in  Maryland  to  the 
State  of  Ohio,  commonly  known  as  ''  The  Cumberland  "  or  "  National  "  road, 
was  passed  early  in  1806.  The  subject  caused  a  vast  amount  of  discussion 
in  Congress,  for  a  good  many  years  afterward. 


376  THE   POLITICIAN. 

terable  and  inextricable.  Fortunately,  the  Speaker, 
not  having  above  thrice  the  patience  of  Job,  at  length 
called  me  to  order,  and  I  obeyed.  Fortunately  too 
for  me,  the  reporter,  who  had  made  more  great  ora 
tions  than  all  the  orators  of  ancient  or  modern  times, 
not  being  able  to  take  down  my  speech  in  short-hand, 
substituted  one  of  his  own,  which  was  read  by  my 
constituents  with  infinite  satisfaction  and  improve 
ment.  Shortly  after  this,  I  made  a  motion  to  exclude 
the  ladies  from  the  gallery ;  being  convinced,  from 
my  own  experience,  that  they  cause  the  effusion  of 
more  nonsense  in  the  house  than  nature  ever  intended 
men  should  utter. 

I  was  at  first  exceedingly  discouraged  with  my  ex 
cursion  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  ;  but,  finding  it  made 
such  a  splendid  figure  in  the  newspapers,  I  deter 
mined  to  take  the  earliest  opportunity  to  get  rid  of 
another  of  my  six  labours.  The  next  torrent  of  my 
eloquence  was  poured  out  from  the  summit-level  of 
a  great  canal,  which,  involving  as  it  did  a  great  prin 
ciple,  excited  a  vast  deal  of  interest  in  and  out  of 
the  house.  Unfortunately  for  me,  I  did  not  get  a 
chance  of  speaking  until  the  subject  had  been  ex 
hausted  at  least  a  score  of  times,  in  a  score  of 
speeches.  But,  for  all  this,  I  was  resolved  not  to  lose 
my  labours  because  others  had  forestalled  them.  Ac 
cordingly,  when  every  other  orator  had  become  as 
exhausted  as  the  summit-levels  of  some  of  our  canals, 
I  rose  in  my  might,  and  repeated,  not  only  all  that  had 
been  said  in  the  House,  but  all  that  had  been  written 
out  of  it  for  the  last  fifty  years.  I  led  the  House  from 
the  canal  of  the  Red  Sea  to  the  canal  of  the  Yellow 
river;  from  the  canal  of  Languedoc  to  the  canal  of 


THE   POLITICIAN.  377 

Caledonia ;  from  the  canal  of  the  Duke  of  Bridgewa- 
ter  to  that  of  Lake  Erie :  in  short,  I  did  what  neither 
Sir  Francis  Drake,  Ferdinand  Magellan,  Christopher 
Columbus,  nor  Captain  Cook,  ever  achieved ;  I  sailed 
round  the  world  on  a  canal.  Before  I  had  finished 
one  quarter  of  rny  tour  of  inland  navigation,  more 
than  three  fourths  of  the  members  were  so  fully  con 
vinced  by  my  arguments,  that  one  after  the  other 
left  the  house,  having,  as  they  afterwards  assured 
me,  made  up  their  minds  on  the  subject.  This  time 
I  kept  clear  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  never  quit 
ting  my  canal  for  a  moment ;  and,  there  being  no 
law  against  repeating  the  same  thing  over  again  a 
hundred  thousand  times,  I  might  have  spoken  till 
doomsday,  had  not  Mr.  Speaker  at  length  waked  up, 
and  observed  that  he  believed  there  was  no  quorum, 
and  proposed  an  adjournment. 

"  Never  was  there  a  more  complete  triumph  of  ar 
gument  and  eloquence  combined,"  said  the  Banner  of 
Truth ;  "  the  friends  of  the  canal  were  one  and  all  so 
convinced,  that  they  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to 
stay  further  argument ;  and  its  foes  fell  away  before 
the  thunder  of  his  eloquence,  as  the  walls  of  Jericho 
crumbled  at  the  blowing  of  the  rams'  horns."  I  was 
at  first  a  little  mortified  at  the  idea  of  my  speech  not 
appearing  with  an  end  to  it  in  the  report ;  but  the  re 
porter  comforted  me  with  the  assurance  that,  so  long 
as  a  speech  had  a  beginning,  it  was  of  little  conse 
quence  whether  it  came  to  any  conclusion  or  not. 

I  now  began  to  be  talked  of  as  a  rising  politician ; 
for  any  man  who  can  get  on  the  back  of  a  canal  or  a 
railroad  is  sure  of  immortality.  I  became  the  Nep 
tune  of  inland  seas,  a  very  "  Triton  of  the  minnows  "  ; 


378  THE   POLITICIAN. 

and  already  began  to  aspire  to  an  embassy  to  some 
one  of  the  new  republics  *  without  any  government. 
"  He  has  made  the  canal,"  said  a  great  man.  "  You 
are  mistaken,"  said  the  member  with  the  tuneful  voice 
and  Cervantesque  manner;  "the  canal  has  made  him." 
To  end  my  Congressional  register :  —  I  got  rid  of  all 
my  speeches,  besides  offering  thirty-six  resolutions, 
calling  for  information  which  the  several  heads  of  de 
partment  assured  me  would  require  the  united  labours 
of  six  hundred  men,  six  hours  in  the  day  for  six  years, 
to  collect  and  arrange.  In  addition  to  all  this,  I  made 
about  a  hundred  little  extempores;  drafted  a  bill, 
which  was  passed  after  all  the  sections  had  been 
amended  so  as  to  mean  exactly  the  contrary  of  what 
I  intended,  and  which  afterwards  became  the  father 
of  six  volumes  of  commentaries ;  and  wound  up  tri 
umphantly  at  the  end  of  the  session,  by  striking  out 
a  "  but,"  and  inserting  an  "  except,"  in  a  bill  for  the 
relief  of  poor  Amy  Dardin,  after  a  long  and  animated 
debate,  in  which  great  talents  were  displayed  on  both 
sides. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  last  session  of  my  term, 
a  great  crisis  happened.  The  whole  confederation 
was  divided  on  a  great  question  which  involved  a 
great  fundamental  principle,  and  it  fell  to  the  lot  of 
Congress  to  decide  by  states,  each  state  having  a  vote. 
It  was  now  indeed  that  I  felt  myself  a  great  man, 
since  a  great  question,  involving  a  great  principle,  on 
which  depended  the  salvation  of  unborn  millions, 
rested  upon  my  single  suffrage.  I  was  the  sole  repre 
sentative  of  my  state,  and,  while  others  had  only  the 
fractional  part  of  a  vote,  I  had  a  voice  potential.  The 

*  In  South  America. 


THE   POLITICIAN.  379 

other  states  were  divided ;  my  state  had  the  casting 
vote,  and  I,  I  alone,  became  a  second  Warwick,  a 
king-maker !  Had  Mrs.  Welcome  Hussey  Bashaba 
been  now  at  the  seat  of  government,  she  would  not 
have  wanted  great  men  to  hand  her  in  to  supper.  It 
behooved  me  to  reflect  seriously,  and  to  delay  my  de 
cision  to  the  last  moment,  although,  at  this  distant 
period,  I  feel  no  hesitation  in  confessing  that  I  had 
made  up  rny  mind  from  the  first,  with  a  proviso  how 
ever  that  I  saw  no  occasion  to  alter  it  afterwards. 
As  it  was,  I  kept  rny  opinions  as  secret  as  the  sources 
of  the  Niger.  In  so  doing  I  acted  by  the  special  ad 
vice  of  my  master,  his  Excellency  the  Honourable 
Peleg  Peashell,  Esquire. 

"  I  hold,"  said  he,  in  one  of  his  letters,  marked,  pri 
vate  and  confidential,  —  "I  hold  to  a  sound  maxim  in 
politics  as  well  as  morals,  that  where  a  man  is  deter 
mined,  upon  principle,  to  pursue  a  certain  line  of  con 
duct,  there  is  no  obligation  which  ought  to  restrain 
him  from  uniting  his  interest  with  his  principle,  and 
making  the  most  of  the  position  in  which  circumstances 
have  placed  him.  For  this  purpose,  it  will  be  wise  and 
patriotic  in  you  to  keep  your  determination  a  pro 
found  secret,  or  even  affect  to  lean  a  little  toward  the 
side  opposite  to  that  you  intend  to  unite  with  at  last. 
When  a  vessel  is  at  anchor,  nobody  feels  much  soli 
citude  about  her  ;  but  a  drifting  boat  always  brings  a 
reward  for  securing  it.  A  word  to  the  wise"  —  &c. 

In  pursuance  of  this  advice,  I  affected  to  be  unde 
cided.  I  had  not  made  up  rr;y  mind ;  I  must  consult 
my  constituents ;  I  should  delay  as  long  as  possible, 
and  be  governed  by  circumstances.  Both  sides  beset 
me  with  arguments ;  but,  when  a  man  has  made  up 


380  THE   POLITICIAN. 

his  mind,  mere  arguments  weigh  nothing.  I  preserved 
my  incognito,  and  talked  as  mysteriously  as  an  oracle. 

One  day  a  confidential  friend  of  one  of  the  great 
principles — (the  reader  must  not  confound  princi^>?es 
with  principals)  —  came  to  me,  to  discuss  the  subject. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Oakford,  there  can  be  no  comparison 
between  the  two  principles.  You  must  support  our 
principle." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  I,  "  I  have  not  the  least  hesita 
tion  in  saying  I  should  support  your  principle" 

here  my  friend  took  my  hand  warmly,  and  cried  with 

fervor,  "  my  dear-r-r  sir-r-r  " "  But "  here 

he  dropped  my  hand  suddenly — "But,  really,  my 
dear  friend,  the  question  depends  so  little  on  my  sin 
gle  vote  or  my  insignificant  influence,  that  though  I 
mean,  if  I  remain  here,  to  vote  on  your  side,  my  fam 
ily  affairs  are  so  pressing  at  home,  and  my  wife  is  in 
such  a  bad  state  of  health,  that  I  rather  think  I  shall 
ask  leave  of  absence  for  the  rest  of  the  session."  A 
confidential  conversation  followed,  which  I  cannot 
disclose,  being  under  the  most  solemn  pledge  to  the 
contrary.  The  result  was,  that  I  agreed  to  remain 
and  support  the  great  principle,  being  satisfied,  by  the 
arguments  of  my  friend,  that  the  salvation  of  the  Un 
ion  and  the  welfare  of  unborn  millions  depended  on 
my  individual  vote.  The  triumph  of  principle  was  ac 
cordingly  achieved  by  my  single  arm,  and  I  returned 
home  to  await  my  reward. 

In  due  time,  I  was  invited  to  preside  over  a  depart 
ment  of  the  government,  in  consequence  of  having  so 
judiciously  accommodated  my  principle  to  my  inter 
est.  It  was  now  that  I  congratulated  myself  on  hav 
ing  sacrificed  every  thing  to  principle,  and  that  I 


THE   POLITICIAN.  381 

expected  to  reap  the  reward  of  my  patriotic  toils  in  the 
cause  of  unborn  millions.  I  proceeded  to  the  seat  of 
government,  and  took  possession  of  my  honours.  But, 
alas!  gentle  reader,  from  that  time  to  the  moment 
when  I  fell  a  sacrifice  to  principle,  I  never  knew  a 
moment's  ease.  I  was  a  pillar  of  the  state,  and  Sam 
son  with  the  gates  of  Gaza  on  his  back  was  but  a 
type  of  me.  It  was  not  long  before  I  discovered 
that  a  statesman  exercises  power  as  an  ass  does,  by 
carrying  burdens ;  and  that  to  be  one  of  the  highest 
of  the  rulers  is  only  to  become  one  of  the  lowest  of 
slaves. 

The  labours  and  mortifications  I  underwent  in  the 
course  of  my  career  of  greatness  are  beyond  my  power 
to  describe.  In  the  morning,  when  I  came  down  stairs, 
I  found  people  waiting  to  speak  with  me;  I  was 
stopped  twenty  times  on  the  way  to  my  office,  by 
people  having  important  business ;  and,  on  my  return 
to  dinner,  by  other  people,  who  only  wanted  to  say 
a  few  words,  and  kept  me  till  my  dinner  was  cold, 
and  my  Bashaba  out  of  all  patience.  If  I  dined  out, 
I  found  a  dozen  letters  to  read  and  answer  before  I 
went  to  bed,  all  on  the  most  important  subjects  ;  that 
is  to  say,  on  subjects  very  important  to  others,  and  of 
not  the  least  consequence  to  myself.  The  good  people 
of  my  state  applied  in  a  body  for  offices.  One  was 
a  cousin  of  my  wife ;  another  had  written  in  my  fa 
vour  in  the  Banner  of  Truth ;  a  third  had  his  eye  put 
out  at  the  polls,  in  advocating  my  cause ;  a  fourth 
was  grandson  to  a  corporal  of  the  revolution ;  a  fifth 
had  once  invited  me  to  dinner;  and  the  remaining 
thirty-odd  thousand  brought  the  warmest  letters  of 
recommendation  from  his  Excellency  the  Honourable 


382  THE   POLITICIAN. 

Peleg  Peashell,  Esquire,  who  was  determined  I  should 
pay  for  his  guardianship.  My  whole  official  life  fur 
nished  an  exemplification  of  the  different  lights  in' 
which  men  view  themselves  and  are  viewed  by  others. 
I  scarcely  met  with  a  man  who  was  not  seeking  an 
office  for  which  he  was  particularly  disqualified,  or 
which  his  situation  ought  not  to  have  placed  him 
above  soliciting,  or  accepting  when  offered.  A  par 
son  wanted  a  commission  in  the  army;  a  soldier,  an 
appointment  requiring  special  knowledge  of  the  civil 
law ;  a  man  who  could  neither  speak  nor  write  his 
native  language,  a  foreign  mission ;  an  independent 
country-gentleman  begged  a  situation  unworthy  a 
broken  feather  -  merchant,  thinking,  perhaps,  with 
Epaminondas,  that  he  would  confer  honour  on  his 
office,  though  his  office  might  confer  none  on  him;  an 
honest  gentleman  from  the  Emerald  Isle,  just  natu 
ralized,  had  great  claims  on  a  rale  republican  adminis 
tration,  on  the  score  of  having  fought  at  Vinegar  Hill; 
another  aspired  to  a  seat  on  the  bench,  having  become 
exceedingly  well  versed  in  criminal  jurisprudence,  by 
sustaining  several  indictments  with  great  gallantry,  and 
coming  off  with  flying  colours ;  and  ten  thousand  at 
least  claimed  the  gratitude  of  the  executive  power,  on 
the  ground  of  having  been  chairmen  or  secretaries  of 
ward  meetings,  and  brawling  at  election  polls.  There 
was  one  fine  fellow  whose  claims  were  irresistible ; 
he  had  gained  the  election  for  an  administration  con 
stable,  by  managing  to  make  one  man  vote  six  times 
at  the  same  poll.  There  was  another  fine  fellow  that 
quite  delighted  me;  he  aspired  to  a  principal  clerk 
ship  in  one  of  the  departments,  and  his  only  disquali 
fication  was  not  being  able  to  write.  "  But  then  you 


THE   POLITICIAN.  383 

know,  sir,  I  can  make  my  mark,  and  the  understrap 
pers  can  do  the  writing  for  me." 

"  Well,  but,"  said  I,  "  what  will  you  be  doing,  all 
the  while  others  are  performing  your  duties  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can  give  advice  to  the  secretary.  I  am  a 
capital  hand  at  giving  advice." 

Another  still  finer  fellow,  who  had  broken  three 
several  times,  never  paid  a  debt  in  his  life,  and  bor 
rowed  money  from  every  body  that  would  lend,  de 
manded  a  situation  in  which  millions  of  the  public 
money  would  pass  through  his  hands.  He  brought 
me  recommendations  from  all  his  creditors,  who  saw 
in  his  appointment  to  this  office  the  only  chance  of 
ever  being  paid.  I  ventured  a  delicate  remonstrance. 
«  My  good  sir,"  said  he,  "  you  know  private  character 
is  not  necessary  in  a  public  character." 

I  believe  I  laughed  but  once,  except  at  the  jokes 
of  a  greater  man  than  myself,  while  I  remained  an 
object  of  envy  to  millions.  I  was  called  out  of 
my  bed,  early  one  cold  winter  morning,  by  a  person 
coming  on  business  of  the  utmost  consequence ;  and 
dressed  myself  in  great  haste,  supposing  it  might  be  a 
summons  to  a  cabinet-council.  When  I  came  into 
my  private  office,  I  found  a  queer,  long-sided  man,  at 
least  six  feet  high,  with  a  little  apple-head,  a  long 
queue,  and  a  face,  critically  round,  as  rosy  as  a  ripe 
cherry.  He  handed  me  a  letter  from  his  Excellency 
the  Honourable  Peleg,  recommending  him  particu 
larly  to  my  patronage.  I  was  a  little  inclined  to  be 
rude,  but  checked  myself,  remembering  that  I  was 
the  servant  of  such  men  as  my  visitor,  and  that  I 
might  get  the  reputation  of  an  aristocrat  if  I  made 
any  distinction  between  man  and  man. 


384  THE   POLITICIAN. 

"  Well,  my  friend,  what  situation  do  you  wish  ?  " 

"  Why-y-y,  I'm  not  very  particular ;  but  some  how 
or  other,  I  think  I  should  like  to  be  a  minister.  I  don't 
mean  of  the  gospel,  but  one  of  them  ministers  to  for 
eign  parts." 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  very  sorry  indeed ;  there  is  no  va 
cancy  just  now.  Would  not  something  else  suit 
you  ?  " 

"  Why-y-y,"  answered  the  apple-headed  man,  "  I 
wouldn't  much  care  if  I  took  a  situation  in  one  of  the 
departments.  I  wouldn't  much  mind  being  a  comp 
troller,  or  an  auditor,  or  some  such  thing." 

"  My  dear  sir,  I'm  sorry,  very  sorry,  very  sorry 
indeed,  but  it  happens  unfortunately  that  all  these  sit 
uations  are  at  present  filled.  Would  not  you  take 
something  else  ?  " 

"  My  friend  stroked  his  chin,  and  seemed  struggling 
to  bring  down  the  soarings  of  his  high  ambition  to  the 
existing  crisis.  At  last  he  answered, 

"  Why-y-y,  ye-s-s ;  I  don't  care  if  I  get  a  good  col- 
lectorship,  or  inspectorship,  or  surveyorship,  or  navy- 
agency,  or  any  thing  of  that  sort." 

"  Really,  my  good  Mr.  Phippenny,"  said  I,  "  I  regret 
exceedingly,  that  not  only  are  all  these  places  filled, 
but  that  every  other  place  of  consequence  in  the  gov 
ernment  is  at  present  occupied.  Pray  think  of  some 
thing  else." 

He  then,  after  some  hesitation,  asked  for  a  clerk 
ship,  and  finally  for  the  place  of  messenger  to  one  of 
the  public  offices.  Finding  no  vacancy  here,  he 
seemed  in  vast  perplexity,  and  looked  all  around  the 
room,  fixing  his  eye  at  length  on  me,  and  measuring 
my  height  from  head  to  foot.  Then,  putting  on  one 


THE   POLITICIAN.  385 

of  the  drollest  looks  that  ever  adorned  the  face  of 
man,  he  said, 

"  Mister,  you  and  I  seem  to  be  built  pretty  much 
alike,  haven't  you  some  old  clothes  you  can  spare  ?  " 

"  Oh,  what  a  falling  off  was  there !  "  —  from  a  for 
eign  mission  to  a  suit  of  old  clothes,  which  the  reader 
may  be  assured  I  gave  him  with  infinite  pleasure,  in 
reward  for  the  only  honest  laugh  I  enjoyed  for  years. 

Among  others  whose  names  were  sent  on  to  me 
for  office,  was  young  Brookfield,  son  of  the  worthy 
man  whose  hospitalities  I  had  repaid  by  assisting  to 
lay  him  in  his  grave,  a  victim  to  the  great  principle 
on  which  the  salvation  of  unborn  millions  depended. 
I  had  now  an  opportunity  to  atone  for  an  injury,  and 
repay  benefits ;  but  I  received  at  the  same  time  a  let 
ter  from  his  Excellency  the  Honourable  Peleg,  recom 
mending  another  person,  and  warning  me  against 
young  Brookfield,  who  belonged  to  the  party  in  oppo 
sition  to  the  great  Peleg  as  well  as  the  great  principle. 
"  The  great  political  commandment,"  said  the  great 
Peleg,  "  is  to  reward  your  friends  and  punish  your 
enemies.  There  is  nothing  selfish  in  this  principle, 
since  you  do  not  reward  your  friends  and  punish  your 
enemies  because  they  are  friends  and  enemies,  but  be 
cause  they  are  the  friends  and  the  enemies  of  the 
great  principle  on  which  the  safety  of  the  Union  and 
the  salvation  of  unborn  millions  depend."  What 
were  the  claims  of  gratitude,  or  the  atonement  of  in 
juries,  to  these  sublime  considerations  ?  Poor  Brook- 
field  was  passed  over,  in  favour  of  an  adherent  of  the 
great  Peleg  and  the  great  principle.  Brookfield 
turned  his  attention  to  a  better  object,  and  in  good 
time  rose  to  respectability  and  independence ;  so 

25 


386  THE   POLITICIAN. 

that,  after  all,  I  flatter  myself  I  was  the  architect  of 
his  fortune.  I  cannot  say,  however,  that  he  ever 
evinced  much  gratitude  for  my  forbearance  in  his 
favour. 

I  speak  as  if  I  were  acting  in  these  cases  without 
control.  But  a  man  living  in  society  cannot  do  as  he 
pleases  at  all  times ;  a  man  in  high  station,  never. 
He  is  elbowed  and  restricted  on  all  sides.  He  has 
his  equals,  his  superiors,  his  very  dependents,  to  influ 
ence  and  thwart  his  own  wishes  and  resolves ;  is 
sometimes  the  slave  of  his  masters,  sometimes  of  his 
equals,  and  sometimes  of  his  slaves.  There  is  but 
one  greater  slave  than  the  second  man  of  a  nation, 
and  that  is  the  first  man  of  a  nation.  I  was  no  more 
master  in  my  office  than  in  my  own  house,  where 
Mrs.  Bashaba  managed  the  home  department  en 
tirely,  and  stood  in  the  place  of  the  sovereign  people. 

My  domestic  affairs  and  my  domestic  enjoyments 
were,  equally  with  my  personal  independence,  sacri 
ficed  to  the  intense  labours  and  anxieties  of  my  public 
station.  During  the  session  of  Congress,  I  was  meted 
back  some  of  my  own  measure,  by  certain  watchful 
and  sagacious  members,  who  moved  resolution  after 
resolution,  calling  for  information  on  certain  points, 
from  the  first  organization  of  the  government  to  the 
day  of  call.  Some  of  these  resolutions  absorbed 
the  time  of  myself  and  my  clerks  for  several  weeks, 
and  I  took  pride  to  myself  for  the  clear  and  able 
manner  in  which  I  drew  up  reports,  which  were  re 
ceived,  not  read,  laid  on  the  table,  and  forgotten. 
The  object  of  the  honourable  member  had  been 
gained.  He  had  made  a  motion ;  got  his  name  in 
the  newspapers ;  and  acquired  among  his  constitu- 


THE   POLITICIAN.  387 

ents  the  reputation  of  a  vigilant  guardian  of  the  pub 
lic  interests. 

I  had  various  other  mortifications,  which  none  can 
feel  or  know  unless  placed  in  my  situation.  Some 
times  a  patriot  member  would  revenge  the  disap 
pointment  of  some  object,  or  the  refusal  of  some 
favour,  by  attacking  my  official  conduct.  At  another 
time  the  editor  of  a  newspaper,  to  whom  I  had  per 
haps  neglected  to  send  an  advertisement,  would 
launch  a  random  charge,  or  a  thundering  witticism,  at 
my  head ;  and  though,  as  an  individual,  his  good  or 
bad  report  was  of  no  sort  of  consequence,  still  his  fiat 
editorial  consecrated  the  inspirations  of  ignorance 
and  folly.  In  short,  I  sometimes  had  the  pleasure  of 
suspecting  that  nearly  one  half  my  countrymen  be 
lieved  me  to  be  a  blockhead  or  a  rogue.  To  say  the 
truth,  had  it  not  been  for  my  perpetual  recurrence  to 
the  first  principles  of  the  great  Peleg,  I  should  some 
times  have  suspected  that  I  deserved  the  latter  dis 
tinction  ;  for  I  confess  I  often  broke  my  promises,  and 
passed  over  merit  and  services,  in  favour  of  political 
influence, 'which  the  Honourable  Peleg  considered 
synonymous  with  political  principle. 

My  domestic  was  still  less  satisfactory  than  my 
public  life.  The  morning  was  a  regular,  "  never-end 
ing,  still-beginning"  routine  of  vexatious  toil.  I  was 
condemned  to  listen  to  applications  it  was  out  of  my 
power  to  comply  with  ;  to  express  regrets  which  I  did 
not  feel ;  and  hold  out  expectations  which  I  knew 
would  never  be  realized.  I  made  abundance  of  ene 
mies,  and  gained  no  friends;  and  I  was  doomed  to 
meet  ingratitude  from  those  on  whom  I  conferred, 
and  enmity  from  those  to  whom  I  refused,  benefits. 


388  THE   POLITICIAN. 

In  short,  I  was  a  slave  to  official  duties,  that  brought 
neither  the  rewards  of  a  good  conscience,  nor  remu 
neration  for  the  reproaches  of  a  wounded  one.  From 
my  office,  where  I  sat  in  my  chair  five  or  six  hours, 
without  any  exercise  but  that  of  a  perplexed  and  irri 
tated  mind,  I  dragged  myself  home,  to  dress  for  a  din 
ner  at  six  o'clock,  to  put  on  silk  stockings,  sit  in  a 
cold  room  three  or  four  hours,  eat  enormously,  and 
get  the  rheumatism  or  dyspepsy.  From  thence  it 
was  my  hard  fate  to  go  to  a  party  with  Mrs.  Bashaba, 
who  entered  furiously  into  the  dissipations  of  the  cap 
ital,  now  that  the  station  of  her  husband  ensured  her 
being  handed  in  to  supper  by  a  foreign  minister,  or, 
in  default,  by  an  attach^  at  least.  During  the  day 
time,  that  good  lady  was  perpetually  driving  through 
the  solitudes  of  the  streets,  paying  visits  to  ladies  of 
distinction,  at  taverns,  or  trundling  to  Georgetown,  to 
ravage  the  milliners'  shops.  In  one  season  she  disa 
bled  three  pair  of  horses,  and  two  coachmen ;  of 
whom,  one  became  a  cripple  with  rheumatism,  and 
the  other  fell  into  a  decline,  with  a  cold  caught  in  driv 
ing  her  to  a  party  five  miles  off,  in  a  snow-storm. 

But  this  was  not  the  worst.  Mrs.  Bashaba  caught 
the  spirit  of  the  place,  and  commenced  the  business 
of  flirtation,  with  an  attache  whose  face  resembled 
that  of  a  Newfoundland  dog.  He  was  the  very  per 
sonification  of  whiskers,  and  was  held  to  be  very 
handsome,  for  he  marvellously  favoured  Peter  the 
wild  boy.  It  was  now  that  I  thanked  my  stars  my 
wife  was  not  a  beauty ;  for,  if  she  had  been,  I  should 
have  become  jealous,  and  she  would  have  lost  her 
reputation  to  a  certainty.  As  it  was,  I  considered  the 
devoirs  of  Peter  the  wild  boy  a  homage  paid  to  my 


THE   POLITICIAN.  889 

official  dignity,  rather  than  to  the  attractions  of  Mrs. 
Bashaba ;  and,  as  nobody  envied  the  attachd,  there 
was  no  motive  for  taking  away  her  reputation.  The 
happy  result  of  these  happy  coincidences  was,  that  I 
escaped  the  green-eyed  monster,  and  Mrs.  Bashaba 
scandal. 

As  I  believe  none  of  the  writers  on  natural  history 
have  described  the  race  of  whiskered  animals  called 
Attaches,  it  may  be  well  to  apprize  my  readers  that 
they  constitute  the  tail  of  the  corps  diplomatique. 
They  are  the  shadows  of  the  minister,  who  is  the 
shadow  of  his  august  master,  and  are,  of  course,  the 
shadows  of  a  shadow.  They  must  be  able  to  cut  up 
a  dish  at  the  ambassador's  table ;  cut  a  figure  among 
the  ladies ;  and  cut  a  caper  at  balls.  It  is  their  im 
portant  duty  to  fill  up  cards  of  invitation;  answer 
notes  not  diplomatic;  run  about  and  pick  up  news; 
get  at  every  body's  secrets,  and  keep  their  own ;  com 
pliment  the  young  ladies ;  talk  scandal  with  the  old 
ones  ;  trumpet  forth  every  donation  of  the  minister  to 
charitable  societies ;  and  put  on  their  embroidered 
coats  on  all  proper  occasions.  Above  all,  they  must 
understand  etiquette,  and  sacrifice  the  whole  deca 
logue  to  a  point  of  precedence.  Four  or  five  years' 
practice  in  these  profound  mysteries  qualifies  them  for 
Secretary  of  Legation. 

The  unlearned  reader  must  be  careful  not  to  con 
found  etiquette  with  good-breeding,  such  as  is  prac 
tised  among  private  persons.  No  two  things  can  be 
more  different,  nay,  opposite  to  each  other.  Among 
ordinary  people,  for  example,  when  a  stranger,  entitled 
to  notice  and  hospitality,  comes  into  the  place,  it 
is  considered  well-bred  to  call  on  him  first,  and  invite 


390  THE   POLITICIAN. 

him  to  your  house.  Etiquette,  however,  prescribes  a 
different  course.  The  stranger  must  call  on  the  resi 
dent,  indirectly  solicit  his  notice,  and  thrust  himself  or 
herself  on  the  hospitalities  of  the  person  of  distinc 
tion.  Among  well-bred  people,  if  two  persons  hap 
pen  to  be  going  into  a  dining-room  together,  there 
will  be  a  little  contest  of  courtesy,  not  who  shall  get 
in  first,  but  who  shall  give  precedence  to  the  other. 
Among  people  of  etiquette  it  is  exactly  the  reverse. 
The  point  of  honour  consists  in  maintaining  certain 
imaginary  rights  of  going  first,  if  it  be  only  at  a 
funeral ;  and  a  gentleman  or  lady  whose  proper  place 
should  be  lost  would  not  be  able  to  sleep  for  a  week, 
without  an  anodyne.  When  I  was  a  member  of  Con 
gress,  I  came  very  near  occasioning  a  long  and  bloody 
war  between  the  United  States  and  a  foreign  nation, 
by  insulting  the  king  of  the  country  in  taking  the 
hand  of  a  lady  who  happened  to  stand  next  me,  to 
lead  her  into  the  supper  room.  She  had  been  as 
signed  to  the  minister,  who  immediately  ordered  his 
carriage,  went  home  without  his  supper,  and  penned 
a  furious  despatch  to  his  government,  which  he  sent 
off  express,  by  an  attache  of  three  whiskers.  The 
lady  never  forgave  my  presumption.  Had  I  been  a 
senator,  it  might  have  passed :  but,  a  member  of  the 
lower  House !  —  it  was  too  bad.  Thus  it  will  be  per 
ceived  that  etiquette  is  the  antipodes  to  good-breed 
ing.  The  former  consists  in  asserting,  the  latter  in 
waiving,  our  pretensions  to  precedence  and  superiority 
on  all  occasions. 

It  was  curious  to  see  the  independent  representa 
tives  of  a  free  people,  making  obeisance  to  the  very 
persons  whom  they  took  every  occasion  to  slight  in 


THE   POLITICIAN.  391 

their  public  speeches,  and  complying  with  such  do 
cility  with  the  mandates  of  Monsieur  Etiquette.  The 
first  thing  they  did  on  arriving  at  the  seat  of  govern 
ment  was  to  hire  a  hack  and  drive  furiously  round 
to  all  the  givers  of  balls  and  dinners,  to  leave  a  card. 
This  entitled  them  to  an  invitation  to  all  the  balls  and 
dinners,  provided  they  sent  in  their  adhesion  in  this 
manner,  after  every  ball  and  dinner;  otherwise  they 
only  got  an  invitation  to  one  ball  and  dinner,  for  these 
things  were  too  good  to  be  had  without  asking.  For 
my  part,  while  I  was  a  member,  I  refused  this  act  of 
homage,  which  I  then  considered  somewhat  degrad 
ing,  though  when  I  became  one  of  the  privileged  few 
I  confess  I  did  not  find  it  altogether  so  unreasonable. 
The  consequence  of  my  refusal  was,  that  I  was  cut  by 
the  whole  corps  diplomatique,  attaches  and  all ;  dined 
at  home  every  day  by  myself,  and  escaped  dyspepsy 
for  that  session  at  least. 

At  parties,  where  I  saw  the  same  faces  and  heard 
the  same  speeches  for  a  whole  session,  my  great 
amusement  was  to  observe  the  various  struggles  of  all 
classes  to  obtain  that  species  of  distinction  which 
depends,  not  upon  ourselves  but  on  other  people.  I 
could  always  tell  where  the  principal  person,  the  lion 
of  rank,  was  stationed,  by  the  tide  which  was  tending 
that  way ;  and,  had  I  not  known  a  single  person  in 
the  room,  I  could  have  pointed  him  or  her  out  by 
that  infallible  indication.  Such  struggles  to  get  near 
enough  for  a  speech  or  smile,  a  nod,  or  a  shake  of  the 
hand!  Such  looks  of  triumph  when  the  little  ones 
got  side-by-side  with  the  great !  and  such  burstings  of 
self-importance  when  they  had  the  honour  of  walking, 
arm-in-arm,  with  one  above  them  on  the  next  step  of 


392  THE   POLITICIAN. 

the  ladder!  Every  body  seemed  to  live  in  the  sun 
shine  of  reflected  honour,  and  none  appeared  to  found 
their  claims  to  respect  or  consideration  on  the  basis  of 
conscious  worth  or  intrinsic  merit.  I  have  seen  the 
most  insignificant  beings  on  earth,  without  character 
or  talents,  acquire  a  temporary  importance  from  the 
mere  circumstance  of  having,  by  dint  of  a  degrading 
perseverance,  acquired  the  privilege  of  being  toad- 
eater  to  a  person  of  distinction.  Nobody  could  eat 
supper  with  an  appetite  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table  ; 
and  Mrs.  Welcome  Bashaba  always  scolded  the  ser 
vants  for  a  fortnight,  when  she  missed  the  glory  of 
being  gallanted  in  and  out  by  a  qualified  hand. 

Such  was  the  life  I  led,  year  after  year.  By  the 
time  summer  came  I  was  completely  run  down,  and 
it  took  me  all  the  rest  of  the  year  to  wind  myself  up 
again.  If  I  went  to  the  Springs,  I  was  bored  to  death 
by  prosing  politicians,  giving  their  advice  on  the  con 
duct  of  public  officers,  or  slily  insinuating  claims  to 
honour  and  place.  If  I  visited  a  city  where  there  was 
no  such  nuisance  as  a  seat  of  government,  for  the 
purpose  of  relaxing  a  little  in  the  midst  of  its  gaye- 
ties,  there  too  I  was  beset  by  wise  men  and  wise 
women,  talking  nothing  but  eternal  politics,  and  re 
minding  me  that  at  such  a  time  they  had  made  appli 
cation  for  such  a  berth,  for  son,  nephew,  or  second 
cousin.  If  I  returned  to  my  poor  little  farm,  there  it 
was  ten  times  worse.  Every  soul,  far  and  near,  came 
to  ask  for  something,  for  they  all  had  assisted  in  my 
elevation ;  and,  like  poor  Actaeon,  I  was  in  danger 
of  being  torn  to  pieces  by  my  own  hounds.  I  was 
obliged  to  bow  and  smile,  and  play  the  courtier,  while 
my  very  soul  was  fretting  itself  to  shreds  and  tatters ; 


THE   POLITICIAN.  393 

for  it  is  among  the  horrors  of  greatness,  in  a  free 
country  at  least,  that  it  must  be  bought  and  main 
tained  at  the  awful,  incalculable,  price,  of  being  civil 
to  all  mankind.  Still,  such  is  the  fascination  of 
power,  I  clung  to  the  glorious  mischief,  though  it  was 
gnawing  at  my  vitals  and  destroying  me  by  inches. 
I  was  indeed  fast  declining,  and  it  is  my  firm  belief 
that  a  very  few  years  would  have  brought  me  to  that 
great  inn  where  all  mankind  take  up  their  last  night's 
lodging,  had  not  my  life  been  saved  by  a  lucky  change 
in  the  great  fundamental  political  principle,  on  which 
the  salvation  of  unborn  millions  depended. 

The  people  have  in  all  ages  been  charged  with  gross 
unsteadiness  and  ingratitude.  But,  to  do  them  jus 
tice,  I  believe  this  instability  is  only  the  consequence 
of  their  perpetual  disappointments.  They  are  prom 
ised  great  things  from  new  rulers,  which  promises  are 
never  realized,  and  by  a  natural  consequence  they 
change  from  admiration  to  indifference,  from  indiffer 
ence  to  contempt  or  disgust.  But,  however  this  may 
be  —  tempora  mutantar  —  times  change,  men  change, 
and  principles  change,  if  I  am  to  judge  from  my  own 
experience.  Even  the  great  Peleg,  my  mentor,  un 
derwent  a  metamorphosis.  For  some  time  a  silent 
revolution  had  been  preparing  and  maturing  in  the 
public  mind,  turning  on  certain  great  mechanical  prin 
ciples  connected  with  railroads,  canals,  locks,  break 
waters,  and  cotton  machinery.  Political  principles 
now  seemed  fast  verging  into  mechanical  principles, 
and  the  machinery  of  state  to  be  almost  entirely  gov 
erned  by  spinning-jennies,  weaver's-beams,  and  topo 
graphical  surveys.  The  revolution  of  principle,  in  my 
native  state,  was  brought  about  by  a  great  mill-dam ; 


394  THE   POLITICIAN. 

others  turned  on  improving  the  navigation  of  rivers ; 
others  on  the  auction  system  ;  others  on  coarse  wool 
lens  ;  and  others  on  prohibiting  the  importation  of 
vermicelli;  —  all,  fundamental  political  principles,  on 
which  the  existence  of  the  Union  and  the  salvation  of 
unborn  millions  depended.  But  the  most  extraordi 
nary  change  of  all  was  that  of  a  great  state  —  an  im- 
periam  in  imperio —  whose  fundamental  principle 
turned  altogether  on  the  question,  whether  freema 
sons  took  their  degrees  on  a  red-hot  gridiron  or  not* 
This  point  divided  the  whole  state,  and  threw  the 
body-politic  into  convulsions.  Committees  were  ap 
pointed  ;  inquisitors  authorized  to  worry  and  harass 
whole  communities ;  and  constitutional  principles  set 
at  nought  in  the  discussion  of  the  great  fundamental 
principle  of  the  gridiron.  But,  (what  most  strikingly 
proved  the  purity  of  the  motives  which  governed  all 
these  revolutionary  bodies),  in  all  their  arguments, 
contentions,  and  struggles,  the  word  "interest"  was 
never  once  uttered.  Nothing  but  conscience  and  prin 
ciple  was  appealed  to,  notwithstanding  it  was  the 
opinion  of  many  honest  people,  that  an  appeal  to  the 
conscience  and  principles  of  the  opposite  party  was 
like  the  lady  Rosalind  swearing  by  her  beard. 

Somewhere  about  this  period,  the  Honourable  Pe- 
leg,  who  watched  the  weathercock  of  politics  as  a 
valetudinarian  does  the  wind,  all  at  once  changed  his 
principles,  having,  as  he  wrote  me,  discovered  that 
the  great  fundamental  principle,  on  which  depended 
the  existence  of  the  Union  and  the  salvation  of  un 
born  millions,  was  not  what  he  took  it  to  be.  He 

*  The  "Anti-mason"  party  for  some  years  exerted  a  powerful  influence 
upon  the  politics  of  the  State  of  New  York. 


THE   POLITICIAN.  395 

brought  over  the  Banner  of  Truth  to  his  side,  by 
sending  the  worthy  editor  a  present  of  the  largest 
pumpkin  that  ever  grew  in  the  state ;  and  the  Banner 
of  Truth  began  forthwith  to  unsay  all  that  it  had  been 
saying  for  the  last  ten  years.  Never  man,  or  woman 
either,  unravelled  an  old  stocking  so  dexterously  and 
quickly  as  the  editor  of  the  Banner  of  Truth  unrav 
elled  and  turned  inside  out  all  the  arguments  he  had 
urged  in  support  of  the  old  great  fundamental  princi 
ple.  To  be  prepared  for  the  worst,  however,  he  got  a 
coat  made,  one  half  homespun,  the  other  half  Re- 
gent's-cloth,  with  a  jacket,  one  side  civil,  the  other 
military,  which  he  wore  as  occasion  required. 

For  my  part,  though  I  saw  the  storm  coming,  I 
determined  to  remain  firm  to  my  principles,  knowing, 
as  I  did  full  well,  that  it  was  too  late  to  turn  about 
to  any  good  purpose,  for  my  successor  was  already 
designated.  The  denouement  of  the  great  farce  now 
approached;  the  whole  country  was  convulsed  — 
in  the  newspapers.  I  went  out,  and  another  came  in ; 
one  great  principle  triumphed,  on  which  depended  the 
salvation  of  unborn  millions  ;  and  another  great  prin 
ciple  on  which  the  salvation  of  unborn  millions,  in  the 
opinion  of  millions  of  living  persons,  equally  depended, 
went  out  of  fashion,  at  least  for  the  time  being.  ^ 

Will  my  readers  believe  it  ?  I  left  the  seat  of  gov 
ernment,  where  I  had  lost  my  health,  sacrificed  my 
domestic  habits,  and  laboured  like  a  galley-slave  at 
the  oar,  only  to  be  rewarded  with  abuse  and  obloquy 
from  at  least  one  half  of  my  countrymen  —  I  left  it 
with  a  regret  which  I  can  only  account  for  upon  the 
principle  that  man  is  born  unto  trouble,  and  that  it  is 


396  THE   POLITICIAN. 

in  his  nature  to  delight  to  fish  in  troubled  waters.  As 
the  City  of  the  Desert  passed  away  from  my  back 
ward  view,  I  could  not  help  reflecting  that  I  had, 
peradventure,  been  all  my  life  fighting  shadows,  for 
shadows ;  and  that  I  was  now  returning  to  the  start 
ing-place,  with  nothing  saved  from  the  wreck  of  de 
parted  years  but  a  fund  of  experience  which  I  was 
now  almost  too  old  to  turn  to  advantage.  As  the 
great  copper  kettle  turned  upsidedown,  which  de 
forms  one  of  the  finest  structures  of  the  age,  disap 
peared  behind  the  forests  of  the  city,  I  cast  a  rueful 
glance  at  Mrs.  Bashaba  who  sat  at  my  side,  and  there 
met  the  comfortable  assurance,  that  my  retirement 
from  the  turmoils  of  public  life  was  not  destined  to  be 
followed  by  the  calm  of  domestic  repose. 

One  of  the  great  delights  of  the  seat  of  government 
is  the  necessity  a  great  man  labours  under,  of  spend 
ing  his  salary  in  treating  to  sumptuous  dinners  the 
gentlemen  who  are  every  day  finding  fault  with  his 
official  conduct.  The  simplicity  of  our  republican 
institutions  requires  that  these  dinners  should  be  as 
splendid  as  possible,  and  the  wines  of  the  most  rare 
and  expensive  kind.  Without  these  constitutional 
arguments,  it  would  be  almost  impossible  to  carry  a 
measure,  or  do  any  thing  for  the  benefit  of  posterity. 
Every  public  functionary  is  expected  to  come  to  the 
seat  of  government  and  depart,  as  we  come  into  and 
go  out  of  this  world,  without  bringing  any  thing  with 
him  or  taking  any  thing  away.  I  remember  once 
giving  a  vast  dinner  to  twenty  or  thirty  members,  one 
of  whom  was  particularly  devoted  to  the  wines  and 
viands,  and  consumed  nearly  a  day's  salary.  The 


THE   POLITICIAN.  397 

next  day,  he  made  a  famous  speech  on  republican  sim 
plicity,  which  he  concluded  by  moving  to  reduce  the 
enormous  salaries  of  the  great  public  functionaries, 
whose  splendid  dinners  and  silver  forks  he  described 
with  most  edifying  abhorrence.  But,- notwithstanding 
the  French  wines,  the  French  cookery,  and  the  silver 
forks,  I  had  saved  a  few  paltry  thousands,  with  which 
I  intended  to  improve  my  little  box  at  home,  and  cul 
tivate  a  small  farm  that  I  had  purchased  to  please 
one  of  my  constituents  who  had  considerable  political 
influence. 

The  first  time  I  saw  the  Honourable  Peleg  after 
my  return,  we  had  a  hot  argument  on  the  question 
whether  he  or  I  had  deserted  the  great  principle.  It 
ended,  like  most  political  discussions,  in  contention 
and  recrimination.  We  parted,  the  worst  friends  in 
the  world.  My  farm  was  now  my  only  resource.  At 
first  the  perfect  ease  quiet  and  independence  I  en 
joyed  was  intolerable.  I  became  melancholy  for  want 
of  something  to  trouble  me,  and  had  it  not  been  for 
Mrs.  Bashaba,  should  have  perished  for  lack  of  con 
tradiction.  But  fate  seemed  determined  to  persecute 
me  with  a  life  of  perfect  repose.  I  lost  Mrs.  Bashaba 
a  few  months  after  my  retirement.  The  whiskered 
attache  passed  our  door  without  stopping,  on  his  way 
to  Boston,  and  she  never  held  up  her  head  afterwards. 
Casting  about  for  something  to  do,  it  all  at  once  oc 
curred  to  me  that  I  would  call  the  Honourable  Peleg 
to  a  reckoning  on  the  score  of  his  guardianship.  I 
had  the  cruelty  to  put  him  in  chancery ;  but  I  shared 
with  him  the  penalty  of  this  unchristian  act.  I  had 
now  enough  to  occupy  my  mind,  and  vex  my  very 


398  THE   POLITICIAN. 

soul ;  and  I  here  record  it  as  my  firm  opinion,  that  to 
be  in  chancery  is  worse  than  to  be  the  head  of  a  de 
partment.  I  several  times  saw  the  end  of  my  suit, 
but  it  was  like  a  view  of  those  high,  snowy,  perpen 
dicular  summits  we  behold  on  approaching  the  Andes, 
which  the  eye  sees  and  the  imagination  contemplates, 
but  which  are  inaccessible  to  mortal  tread.  When  I 
began  the  suit,  1  was  possessed  of  three  very  good 
things ;  I  had  money,  patience,  and  a  great  veneration 
for  equity.  Before  my  suit  was  ended,  I  had  none  of 
the  three.  But  time  does  wonders ;  it  can  even  bring 
a  suit  in  chancery  to  an  end ;  and  at  length  I  got  a 
decision  in  my  favour  for  a  few  thousands.  But  the 
Honourable  Peleg  was  prepared  for  me.  He  had 
assigned  all  his  property  to  a  bank ;  the  bank  had 
hypotheticated  it  to  an  insurance  company  ;  the  insu 
rance  company  had  failed ;  the  officers  and  directors 
had  divided  the  spoil;  and  I  might  as  well  have 
looked  for  an  honest  man  among  them  as  for  my 
property.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  the  Honourable  Peleg, 
by  sticking  close  to  the  great  political  principle,  still 
managed  to  preserve  the  confidence  of  the  people. 
He  had  never  held  a  public  office  where  he  was 
intrusted  with  the  public  money,  without  being  a  de 
faulter  ;  he  had  never  been  charged  with  the  care  of 
another's  property,  without  there  being  a  deficiency  in 
the  end ;  and  he  had  never  been  president  of  a  bank, 
that  it  did  not  break  and  defraud  the  community. 
Still,  his  political  principles  were  sound,  though  his 
moral  principles  were  rotten ;  and  he  was  at  length 
selected  by  the  Legislature  to  prepare  a  code  of  crim 
inal  jurisprudence  for  the  State,  upon  the  ground,  I 


THE   POLITICIAN.  399 

presume,  that  you  set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,  and 
that  no  man  can  be  better  qualified  to  make  laws  than 
he  who  has  been  long  in  the  habit  of  breaking  them. 
There  is  a  certain  homely,  unobtrusive  philosophy, 
which  makes  very  little  figure  in  the  works  of  Bo- 
lingbroke,  Boethius,  or  any  other  unfortunate  states 
man.  It  may  be  called  philosophy  perforce,  and  is 
worth  all  other  systems  put  together.  I  mean,  the 
capacity  of  the  human  mind  to  accommodate  itself  to 
inevitable  circumstances,  to  endure  what  cannot  be 
cured,  and  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain.  This 
was  now  my  consolation.  I  had  gradually  lost  all  hope 
of  again  coming  forward  in  political  life;  for  the  mo 
ment  one  man  steps  out  of  the  shoes,  another  stands 
ready  to  step  into  them.  If  we  stop  a  moment  in  the 
great  path  along  which  the  whole  human  race  is  press 
ing  forward,  we  must  be  left  behind,  and  can  never 
again  overtake  the  flood  that  rolls  on  to  success  or 
ruin.  By  degrees,  as  this  conviction  familiarized 
itself  to  my  thoughts,  I  turned  from  the  past  to  the 
present,  and  gradually  yielded  to  the  philosophy  of 
necessity.  I  felt  that  my  peace  of  mind,  my  health, 
my  subsistence,  depended  upon  exertion  ;  and  I  began 
to  exert  myself.  It  was  at  first  disagreeable,  for  a 
man  who  had  assisted  in  swaying  the  destinies  of  an 
empire,  to  second  a  labourer  in  planting  pumpkins. 
But  I  remembered  that  Dioclesian  hoed  cabbages; 
that  Joseph  the  Second  was  a  great  maker  of  red  seal 
ing-wax  ;  that  Don  Carlos  of  Naples  employed  his 
time  in  shooting  rabbits,  and  Don  Ferdinand  of  Spain 
his  in  embroidering  satin  petticoats  —  above  all,  I  re 
membered  the  course  of  the  great  and  perfect  model 


400  THE   POLITICIAN. 

of  nilers,  and  that  of  his  virtuous  successors,  who, 
one  after  another,  retired  from  the  cares  of  state,  to 
cultivate  their  farms,  to  give  an  example  to  the  world, 
and  to  hear  themselves  every  day  blessed  from  afar 
off  by  the  voices  of  millions. 

I  have  now  passed  almost  twenty  years  in  my  hum 
ble  retirement.  The  world  has  forgotten  me,  and  I 
am  content  to  be  forgotten.  I  can  now  look  calmly 
upon  both  worlds  —  that  which  I  am  leaving  behind, 
and  that  to  which  I  am  rapidly  advancing.  The  last 
spark  of  vanity  expired  in  writing  my  history,  that 
I  might,  peradventure,  be  remembered  a  little  after  I 
am  gone.  But,  to  do  myself  justice,  I  had  other  and 
higher  motives. 

I  have  long  seen,  with  fearful  and  melancholy  anti 
cipations,  the  disproportioned  space  that  politics  and 
party  feelings  occupy  in  the  lives  of  my  fellow-citi 
zens,  to  the  exclusion  of  other,  and  let  me  add,  nobler, 
pursuits.  I  have  seen  the  country  thrown  into  a  fer 
ment;  the  charities  of  life  and  the  bonds  of  benevo 
lence,  the  obligations  of  truth  and  the  ties  of  justice, 
all  rent  as  burnt  flax,  and  scattered  to  the  winds  as 
nothing  —  an  offering  on  the  altar  of  political  strife. 
I  have  seen  the  most  frivolous  objects,  and  the  most 
contemptible  offices,  assuming  a  vast  and  fallacious 
magnitude,  and  exciting  the  most  violent  and  out 
rageous  struggle  for  their  attainment,  as  if  the  parties 
to  the  quarrel  were  contending  for  the  empire  of  the 
world.  In  short,  I  have  seen,  as  I  think,  the  finger  of 
time  pointing  to  that  period,  not  far  distant  I  fear, 
when  the  choice  of  a  chief-magistrate  will  be  consid 
ered  an  object  of  greater  moment  than  the  precepts 


THE   POLITICIAN.  401 

of  morality,  the  obligations  of  religion,  or  the  preser 
vation  of  our  liberties.  It  cannot  be  disguised,  that 
the  spark  which  lights  these  political  conflagrations  is 
struck  out  by  the  violent  collision  of  office-holders  and 
office-seekers ;  and  I  am  aware  that  the  experience  of 
others  weighs  little  with  us  in  balancing  our  own  con 
duct  and  regulating  our  pursuits.  Still,  perhaps,  a  plain 
narrative  of  the  unsatisfactory  results  of  so  many  sacri 
fices  of  moral  principle  may  serve  to  mitigate  at  least 
the  violence  of  those  contests,  which  end  at  length  in 
a  momentary  triumph,  followed  by  a  lasting  defeat. 
Men  may  learn,  from  my  example,  how  mistaken  is 
the  idea,  that  the  possession  of  power  leads  to  inde 
pendence,  or  enables  them  to  indulge  their  own  will. 
If  there  is  any  station  in  life  in  which  we  can  do  as 
we  please,  it  will  be  found  much  nearer  the  extreme 
of  the  beggar  than  that  of  the  king. 

All  the  honourable  pursuits  of  life  are  salutary, 
provided  their  rewards  are  not  sought  with  too  great 
avidity,  and  at  the  price  of  integrity  and  happiness. 
It  is,  moreover,  the  bounden  duty  of  every  citizen  to 
take  a  strong  interest  in  the  conduct  of  public  affairs 
and  the  prosperity  of  his  country.  But  even  patriot 
ism,  as  well  as  religion,  has  its  limits,  beyond  which 
both  become  fanaticism.  He  who  sacrifices  those 
principles  of  honour,  justice,  charity,  and  truth,  which 
are  essential  to  the  happiness  of  mankind  here  as 
well  as  hereafter,  which  never  change,  and  in  which 
all  agree,  to  a  political  principle,  which  is  ever  vary 
ing,  and  about  which  all  mankind  differ,  must  in  the 
end  become  a  most  mischievous  and  pernicious  citi 
zen. 

26 


402  THE  POLITICIAN. 

To  conclude,  I  have  chosen  to  make  my  drama  a 
farce  rather  than  a  tragedy.  I  pretend  not  to  any 
authority  other  than  that  of  experience ;  but  I  have 
seen  enough  of  the  world,  and  of  the  people  of  the 
world,  to  know  that,  beautiful  as  Wisdom  is,  if  she 
would  only  sometimes  condescend  to  smile,  she  would 
be  irresistible. 


THE   END. 


Cambridge:  Press  of  John  Wilson  &  Son. 


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